A  MAI  D  ^ 
MANY  MOODS 


at.!, 


A  Maid 
of  Many  Moods 


amoo  rfJfirf  JfiriW     S  Ji    si    JeriW  ,    Ifiiocfad 

OJ 


"  Debora!     What    is    it?     What  hath  come 
to  thee?" 


OF.  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


A    MA     D 


lorfc,  JAMES  POTT 
COMPANY  MCMII 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY  JAMES  POTT  &  Co. 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


First  Impression,  September,  1902 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAUB 


"  Debora !     What  is  it  ?     What  hath  come  to 

thee?" Frontispiece 

"  Thou'lt  light  no  more  " 2 

She  followed  the  tragedy  intensely ....       62 

"  I  liked  thee  as  a  girl,  Deb ;  but  I  love  thee 

as  a  lad  " 98 

"It    breaks    my    heart    to    see    thee     here, 

Nick" 150 

Darby  went  lightly  from  one  London  topic  to 

another 172 


2138194 


CHAPTER    I 


IT  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  all  the  small 
diamond  window  panes  of  One  Tree  Inn, 
the  half-way  house  upon  the  road  from 
Stratford  to  Shottery,  were  aglitter  with  light 
from  the  great  fire  in  the  front  room  chimney- 
place  and  from  the  many  candles  Mistress  Deb- 
ora  had  set  in  their  brass  candlesticks  and 
started  a-burning  herself.  The  place,  usually 
so  dark  and  quiet  at  this  time  of  night,  seemed 
to  have  gone  off  in  a  whirligig  of  gaiety  to 
celebrate  the  Noel-tide. 

In  vain  had  old  Marjorie,  the  housekeeper, 
scolded.  In  vain  had  Master  Thornbury,  who 
was  of  a  thrifty  and  saving  nature,  followed 
his  daughter  about  and  expostulated.  She  only 
laughed  and  waved  the  lighted  end  of  the  long 
[1] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

spill  around  his  broad  red  face  and  bright  flow- 
ered jerkin. 

"  Nay,  Dad ! "  she  had  cried,  teasing  him 
thus,  "  I'll  help  thee  save  thy  pennies  to-mor- 
row, but  to-night  I'm  of  another  mind,  and  will 
have  such  a  lighting  up  in  One  Tree  Inn  the 
rustics  will  come  running  from  Coventry  to  see 
if  it  be  really  ablaze.  There'll  not  be  a  candle 
in  any  room  whatever  without  it's  own  little 
feather  of  fire,  not  a  dip  in  the  kitchen  left 
dark!  So  just  save  thy  breath  to  blow  them 
out  later." 

"  Come,  mend  thy  saucy  speech,  thou'lt  light 
no  more,  I  tell  thee,"  blustered  the  old  fellow, 
trying  to  reach  the  spill  which  the  girl  held 
high  above  her  head.  "  Give  over  thy  foolish- 
ness ;  thou'lt  light  no  more !  " 

"  Ay,  but  I  will,  then,"  said  she  wilfully, 
"  an'  'tis  but  just  to  welcome  Darby,  Dad  dear. 
Nay,  then,"  waving  the  light  and  laughing, 
"  don't  thou  dare  catch  it.  An'  I  touch  thy 
fringe  o'  pretty  hair,  dad — thy  only  ornament, 
remember — 'twould  be  a  fearsome  calamity !  I' 
faith!  it  must  be  most  time  for  the  coach,  an' 
the  clusters  in  the  long  room  not  yet  lit.  Hin- 
[*] 


"  Thou'lt  light  no  more' 


head. 


• 

• 
"aiom'on  Jrfii  Jl'uorfT 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

der  me  no  more,  but  go  enjoy  thyself  with  old 
Saddler  and  John  Sevenoakes.  I  warrant  the 
posset  is  o'erdone,  though  I  cautioned  thee  not 
to  leave  it." 

"  Thou  art  a  wench  to  break  a  man's  heart," 
said  Thornbury,  backing  away  and  shaking  a 
finger  at  the  pretty  figure  winding  fiery  ribbons 
and  criss-crosses  with  her  bright-tipped  wand. 
"  Thou  art  a  provoking  wench,  who  doth  need 
locking  up  and  feeding  on  bread  and  water. 
Marry,  there'll  be  naught  for  thee  on  Christmas, 
and  thou  canst  whistle  for  the  ruff  and  silver 
buckles  I  meant  to  have  given  thee.  Aye,  an' 
for  the  shoes  with  red  heels."  Then  with  dig- 
nity, *'  I'll  snuff  out  some  o'  the  candles  soon 
as  I  go  below." 

"  An'  thou  do,  dad,  I'll  make  thee  a  day  o' 
trouble  on  the  morrow ! "  she  called  after  him. 
And  well  he  knew  she  would.  Therefore,  it  was 
with  a  disturbed  mind  that  he  entered  the  sitting- 
room  and  went  towards  the  hearth  to  stir  the 
simmering  contents  of  the  copper  pot  on  the 
crane. 

John  Sevenoakes  and  old  Ned  Saddler,  his 
nearest  neighbours  and  friends,  sat  one  each 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

side  of  the  fire  in  their  deep  rush-bottomed 
chairs,  as  they  sat  at  least  five  nights  out  of 
the  week,  come  what  weather  would.  Seven- 
oakes  held  a  small  child,  whose  yellow,  curly 
head  nodded  with  sleep.  The  hot  wine  bubbled 
up  as  the  inn-keeper  stirred  it  and  the  little 
spiced  apples,  brown  with  cloves,  bobbed  madly 
on  top. 

"  It  hath  a  savoury  smell,  Thornbury,"  re- 
marked Saddler.  "  Methinks  'tis  most  ready  to 
be  lifted." 

"  'Twill  not  be  lifted  till  Deb  hears  the  coach," 
answered  Sevenoakes.  "  'Twas  so  she  timed  it. 
*  On  it  goes  at  nine,'  quoth  she,  '  an'  off  it  comes 
at  ten,  Cousin  John.  Just  when  Darby  will  be 
jumping  from  the  coach  an'  running  in.  Oh! 
I  can't  wait  for  the  hour  to  come ! '  she  says." 

"  She's  a  headstrong,  contrary  wench  as  ever 
heaven  sent  a  man,"  put  in  Thornbury,  straight- 
ening himself.  "  'Twere  trouble  saved  an'  I'd 
broken  her  in  long  ago." 

"  'Twas   she  broke   thee  in  long  ago,"   said 

Saddler,  rubbing  his  knotty  hands.     "  She  hath 

led  thee  by  the  ear  since  she  was  three  years 

old.     An'  I  had  married  now,  an'  had  such  a 

[4] 


A     MAID     OF     MANY     MOODS 

lass,  I'd  a  brought  her  up  different,  I  warrant. 
Zounds !  'tis  a  show  to  see.  She  coaxes  thee,  she 
bullies  thee,  she  comes  it  over  thee  with  ca- 
jolery and  blandishments  an'  leads  thee  a  pretty 
dance." 

"  Thou  art  an  old  fool,"  returned  Thornbury, 
mopping  his  face,  which  was  sorely  scorched. 
"  What  should  thou  know  of  the  bringing  up 
of  wenches?  Thou — a  crabbed  bachelor  o'  three 
score  an'  odd.  Thou  hast  no  way  with  chil- 
dren;— i'  truth  I've  heard  Will  Shakespeare 
say  the  tartness  of  that  face  o'  thine  would  sour 
ripe  grapes." 

Sevenoakes  trotted  the  baby  gently  up  and 
down,  a  look  of  troubled  apprehension  disturb- 
ing his  usually  placid  features.  His  was  ever 
the  office  of  peace-maker  between  these  two 
ancient  cronies,  and  he  knew  to  a  nicety  the 
moment  when  it  was  wisest  to  try  and  adjust 
matters. 

"  'Tis  well  I  mind  the  night  this  baby  came," 
he  began  retrospectively,  looking  up  as  the  door 
opened  and  a  tall  young  fellow  entered,  stamp- 
ing the  snow  off  his  long  boots.  "  Marry, 
Nick!  thou  dost  bring  a  lot  o'  cold  in  with 
[5] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

thee,"    he    ended    briskly,    shifting    his    chair. 
"  Any  news  o'  the  coach?  " 

"  None  that  I've  heard,"  replied  the  man, 
going  to  the  hearth  and  turning  his  broad  back 
to  the  fire.  "  "Pis  a  still  night,  still  and  frosty, 
but  no  sound  of  the  horn  or  wheels  reached  me 
though  I  stood  a-listening  at  the  cross-roads. 
Then  I  turned  down  here  an'  saw  how  grandly 
thou  had'st  lit  the  house  up  to  welcome  Darby. 
My  faith!  I'll  be  glad  to  see  him,  for  'tis  an 
age  since  he  was  home,  Master  Thornbury,  an' 
he  comes  now  in  high  feather.  Not  every  lad 
hath  wit  and  good  looks  enough  to  turn  the 
head  o'  London  after  him.  The  stage  is  a  great 
place  for  bringing  a  man  out.  Egad!  I'm 
half  minded  to  try  it  myself." 

"  I  doubt  not  thou  wilt,  Nick,  sooner  or  later ; 
thou  art  a  j  ack-o'-all-trades,"  answered  Thorn- 
bury,  in  surly  tones. 

Nicholas  Berwick  laughed  and  shrugged  his 
well-set  shoulders,  as  he  bent  over  and  touched 
the  child  sleeping  sweetly  in  old  Sevenoakes* 
arms. 

"  What  was't  I  heard  thee  saying  o'  the  baby 
as  I  came  in ;  he  is  not  ailing,  surely  ?  " 
[6] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Not  he !  "  answered  Sevenoakes,  stroking  the 
moist  yellow  curls.  "  He's  lusty  as  a  year-old 
robin,  an'  as  chirpy  when  he's  awake;  but  he's 
in  the  land  o'  nod  now,  though  his  will  was  good 
to  wait  up  for  Darby  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  He's  a  rarely  beautiful  little  lad,"  said  Ber- 
wick. "  I've  asked  Deb  about  him  often,  but 
she  will  tell  me  naught." 

"  I  warrant  she  will  na,"  piped  up  old  Ned 
Saddler,  in  his  reedy  voice.  "  I  warrant  she  will 
na;  'tis  no  tale  for  a  young  maid's  repeating. 
Beshrew  me!  but  the  coach  be  late,"  he  wound 
up  irrelevantly. 

"  How  came  the  child  here?  "  persisted  the 
young  fellow,  knocking  back  a  red  log  with  his 
foot.  "  An'  it  be  such  a  tale  as  you  hint,  Sad- 
dler, I  doubt  not  it's  hard  to  keep  it  from  slip- 
ping off  thy  tongue." 

"  'Tis  a  tale  that  slips  off  some  tongue  when- 
ever this  time  o'  year  comes,"  answered  Thorn- 
bury^  "  I  desire  no  more  Christmas  Eves  like 
that  one  four  years  back — please  God!  We 
were  around  the  hearth  as  it  might  be  now,  and 
a  grand  yule  log  we  had  burning,  I  mind  me; 
the  room  was  trimmed  gay  an'  fine  with  holly  an' 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

mistletoe  as  'tis  to-night.  Saddler  was  there, 
Sevenoakes  just  where  he  be  now,  an'  Deb  sitting 
a-dreaming  on  the  black  oak  settle  yonder,  the 
way  she  often  sits,  her  chin  on  her  hand — you 
mind,  Nick!" 

"  Ay !  "  said  the  man,  smiling. 

"  She  wore  her  hair  down  then,"  went  on 
Thornbury,  "  an'  a  sight  it  were  to  see." 

"  'Twere  red  as  fox-fire,"  interrupted  Sad- 
dler, aggrieved  that  the  tale-telling  had  been 
taken  from  him.  "  When  thou  start'st  off  on 
Deb,  Thornbury,  thou  know'st  not  where  to 
bring  up." 

"  An'  Deb  was  sitting  yonder  on  the  oak  set- 
tle," continued  the  innkeeper  calmly. 

"  An*  she  had  not  lit  the  house  up  scandal- 
ously that  year  as  'tis  now — for  Darby  was 
home,"  put  in  Saddler  again. 

"  Ay !  Darby  was  home — an'  thou  away,  Nick 
— but  the  lad  was  worriting  to  try  his  luck  on 
the  stage  in  London,  an'  all  on  account  o'  a 
play  little  Judith  Shakespeare  lent  him.  I  mind 
me  'twas  rightly  named,  '  The  Pleasant  History 
o'  the  Taming  o'  a  Shrew,'  for  most  of  it  he 
read  aloud  to  us.  Ay,  Darby  was  home,  an' 

[8] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

we  were  sitting  here  as  it  might  be  now,  when 
the  door  burst  open  an'  in  come  my  lad  carry- 
ing a  bit  of  a  baby  muffled  top  an'  toe  in  a 
shepherd's  plaid.  'Twas  crying  pitiful  and 
hoarse,  as  it  had  been  long  in  the  night  wind." 

"  «  Quick,  Dad ! »  called  Darby, '  Quick,'  hand- 
ing the  bundle  to  Deb,  *  there  be  a  woman  per- 
ished of  cold  not  thirty  yards  from  the  house.' 

"  I  tramped  out  after  him  saying  naught. 
'Twas  a  bitter  night  an'  the  road  rang  like 
metal  under  our  feet.  The  country  was  silver- 
white  with  snow,  an'  the  sky  was  sown  thick 
with  stars.  Darby 'd  hastened  on  ahead  an' 
lifted  the  wench  in  his  arms,  but  I  just  took 
her  from  him  an'  carried  her  in  myself.  Marry ! 
she  were  not  much  more  weight  than  a  child. 

"  We  laid  her  near  the  fire  and  forced  her 
to  drink  some  hot  sherry  sack.  Then  she  opened 
her  eyes  wild,  raised  herself  and  looked  around 
in  a  sort  o'  terror,  while  she  cried  out  for  the 
baby.  Deb  brought  it,  an'  the  lass  seemed  con- 
tent, for  she  smiled  an'  fell  back  on  the  pillow 
holding  a  bit  of  the  shepherd's  plaid  tight  in 
her  small  fingers. 

"  She  was  dressed  in  fashion  of  the  Puritan*, 

[9] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

with  kirtle  of  sad-coloured  homespun.  The  only 
bright  thing  about  her  was  her  hair,  and  that 
curled  out  of  the  white  coif  she  wore,  golden 
as  ripe  corn. 

"  Well-a-day !  I  sent  quickly  for  Mother 
Durley,  she  who  only  comes  to  a  house  when 
there  be  a  birth  or  a  death.  I  knew  how  'twould 
end,  for  there  was  a  look  on  the  little  wench's 
face  that  comes  but  once.  She  lived  till  break 
o'  day  and  part  o'  the  time  she  raved,  an'  then 
'twas  all  o'  London  an'  one  she  would  go  to  find 
there;  but,  again  she  just  lay  quiet,  staring 
open-eyed.  At  the  last  she  came  to  herself,  so 
said  Mother  Durley,  an'  there  was  the  light  of 
reason  on  her  face.  'Twas  then  she  beckoned 
Deb,  who  was  sitting  by,  to  bend  down  close,  and 
she  whispered  something  to  her,  though  what 
'twas  we  never  knew,  for  my  girl  said  naught — 
and  even  as  she  spoke  the  end  came. 

"  Soul  o'  me !  but  we  were  at  our  wits'  end 
to  know  what  to  do.  Where  she  came  from  and 
who  she  was  there  was  no  telling,  an'  Deb  raised 
such  a  storm  when  I  spoke  o'  her  being  buried 
by  the  parish,  that  'twas  not  to  be  thought  of. 
One  an'  another  came  in  to  gaze  at  the  little 
[10] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

creature  till  the  inn  was  nigh  full.  I  bethought 
me  'twould  mayhap  serve  to  discover  whom  she 
might  be.  And  so  it  fell.  A  lumbering  yeo- 
man passing  through  to  Oxford  stood  looking 
at  her  a  moment  as  she  lay  dressed  the  way  we 
found  her  in  the  sad-coloured  gown  an'  white 
coif. 

"  '  Why !  Od's  pitikins ! '  he  cried.  '  Marry 
an'  Amen!  This  be  none  but  Nell  Quinten! 
Old  Makepeace  Quinten's  daughter  from  near 
Kenilworth.  I'd  a  known  her  anywhere ! ' 

"  Then  I  bid  Darby  ride  out  to  bring  the 
Puritan  in  all  haste,  but  he  had  the  devil's  work 
to  get  the  man  to  come.  He  said  the  lass  had 
shamed  him,  and  he  had  turned  her  out  months 
before.  She  was  no  daughter  o'  his  he  swore 
— with  much  quoting  o'  Scripture  to  prove  he 
was  justified  in  disowning  her. 

"  Darby  argued  with  him  gently  to  no  pur- 
pose; so  my  lad  let  his  temper  have  way  an' 
told  the  fellow  he'd  come  to  take  him  to  One 
Tree  Inn,  an'  would  take  him  there  dead  or  alive. 
The  upshot  was,  they  came  in  together  before 
nightfall.  The  wench  was  in  truth  the  old 
Puritan's  daughter,  and  he  took  her  home 

[11] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

an'   buried  her.     But   for  the   child,  he'd  not 
touch  it. 

"  *  'Tis  a  living  lie ! '  he  cried.  « 'Tis  branded 
by  Satan  as  his  own !  Give  it  to  the  Parish  or 
to  them  that  wants  it,  or  marry,  let  it  bide  here ! 
'Tis  a  proper  place  for  it  in  good  sooth,  for 
this  be  a  public  house  where  sinful  drinking 
goeth  on  an'  all  worldly  conversation.  More- 
over I  saw  one  Master  William  Shakespeare 
pass  out  the  door  but  now — a  play  actor,  an' 
the  maker  o'  ungodly  plays.  'Twas  such  a  one 
who  wrought  my  Nell's  ruin ! ' 

"  So  he  went  on  an'  moore  o'  the  sort.  Gra' 
mercy !  I  had  the  will  to  horsewhip  him,  an'  but 
for  the  little  dead  maid  I  would.  I  clenched  my 
hands  hard  and  watched  him  away;  he  sitting 
stiff  atop  o'  Stratford  hearse  by  the  driver. 
Thus  he  took  his  leave,  calling  back  at  me  bits 
o'  Holy  Writ,"  finished  Thornbury  grimly. 

"  And  Debora  told  naught  of  what  the  girl 
said  at  the  last? "  asked  Nicholas  Berwick. 
"  That  doth  seem  strange." 

"  Never  a  word,  lad,  beyond  this  much — she 
prayed  her  to  care  for  the  child  till  his  father 
be  found." 

[12] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  By  St.  George !  but  that  was  no  modest  re- 
quest. What  had'st  thou  to  say  in  the  matter? 
Did'st  take  the  heaven-sent  Christmas  box  in 
good  part,  Master  Thornbury  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Nick !  thou  should  know  him  some  bet- 
ter than  to  ask  that,"  said  Saddler.  "  Gad- 
zooks,  there  were  scenes !  'Twas  like  Thornbury 
to  grandfather  a  stray  infant  now,  was't  not  ?  " 
rubbing  his  knees  and  chuckling.  "  Marry !  I 
think  I  see  the  face  he  wore  for  a  full  month. 
'  'Twill  go  to  the  Parish ! '  he  would  cry,  stamp- 
ing around  and  speaking  words  'twould  pass  me 
to  repeat.  '  A  plague  on't !  Here  be  a  kettle 
of  fish !  Why  should  the  wench  fall  at  my  door 
in  heaven's  name?  Egad!  I  am  a  much-put- 
upon  man.'  Ay,  Nick,  'twas  a  marvellous  rare 
treat  to  hear  him." 

"  How  came  you  to  keep  the  child,  sir? " 
asked  Berwick,  gravely. 

The  innkeeper  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  'Twas  Deb  would  have  it  so,"  he  answered. 
"  She  was  fair  bewitched  by  the  little  one.  Thou 
knowest  her  way,  Nick,  when  her  heart  is  set 
on  anything.  Peradventure,  I  have  humoured 
the  lass  too  much,  as  Saddler  maintains.  But 
[13] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

she  coaxed  and  she  cried,  an'  never  did  I  see 
her  cry  so  before,  such  a  storm  o'  tears — save 
for  rage,"  reflectively. 

"Well  put!"  said  Saddler.  "Well  put, 
Thornbury !  " 

"  Ever  had  she  wished  for  just  such  a  one  to 
pet,  she  pleaded,  an*  well  I  knew  no  small  child 
came  in  sight  o'  the  inn  but  Deb  was  after  it 
for  a  plaything.  Nay,  there  never  was  a  stray 
beast  about  the  place,  that  it  did  not  find  her 
and  follow  her  close,  knowing  'twould  be  best 
off  so. 

"  Well  do  I  mind  her  cuffing  a  big  lad  she 
found  drowning  some  day-old  kittens  in  the 
stable — and  he  minds  it  yet  I'll  gainsay!  She 
fished  out  the  blind  wet  things,  an'  gathering 
them  in  her  quilted  petticoat  brought  them  in 
here  a-dripping.  I'  fecks!  she  made  such  a 
moan  over  them  as  never  was." 

"  Ay,  Deb  always  has  a  following  o'  ugly, 
ill-begotten  beasts  that  nobody  wants  but  she," 
said  Sevenoakes.  "  There  be  old  Tramp  for  one 
now — did'st  ever  see  such  an  ill-favoured  beast? 
An'  nowhere  will  he  sit  but  fair  on  the  edge  o' 
her  gown." 

[14] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  He  is  a  dog  of  rare  discernment — and  a 
lucky  dog  to  boot,"  said  Berwick. 

"  So,  the  outcome  of  it,  Master  Thornbury, 
was  that  the  little  lad  is  here." 

"  What  could  a  man  do  ?  "  answered  Thorn- 
bury,  ruefully.  "  Hark !  "  starting  up  as  the 
old  housekeeper  entered  the  room,  "  Where  be 
the  lass,  Marjorie?  An'  the  candles — are  they 
burning  safe?  " 

"  Safe,  but  growing  to  the  half  length,"  she 
answered,  peering  out  of  the  window.  "  The 
coach  must  a-got  overtipped,  Maister." 

"  Where  be  Deb— I  asked  thee?  " 

"  Soul  o'  me !  then  if  thou  must  know,  Mis- 
tress Debora  hath  just  taken  the  great  stable 
lantern  and  gone  along  the  road  to  meet  the 
coach.  '  An'  thou  dost  tell  my  father  I'll 
pinch  thee,  Marjorie!'  she  cried  back  to  me. 
'  When  I  love  thee — I  love  thee ;  an'  when 
I  pinch — I  pinch!  So  tell  him  not.'  But 
'tis  over  late  an'  I  would  have  it  off  my  mind, 
Maister." 

"Did  Tramp  go  with  her?"  asked  Berwick, 
buttoning  on  his  great  cape  and  starting  for  the 
door. 

[15] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Odso !  yes !  an'  she  be  safe  enow.  Thou'lt 
see  the  lantern  bobbing  long  before  thou  com'st 
up  with  her." 

"  'Tis  a  wench  to  break  a  man's  heart! " 
Thornbury  muttered,  standing  at  the  door  and 
watching  the  tall  figure  of  Berwick  swing  along 
the  road. 

The  innkeeper  waited  there  though  a  light 
snow  was  powdering  his  scanty  fringe  of  hair 
— white  already — and  lying  in  sparkles  on  his 
bald  pate  and  holiday  jerkin.  He  was  a  hardy 
old  Englishman  and  a  little  cold  was  nought  to 
him. 

The  night  was  frosty,  and  the  "  star-bitten  " 
sky  of  a  fathomless  purple.  About  the  inn  the 
snow  was  tinted  rosily  from  the  many  twinkling 
lights  within. 

The  great  oak,  standing  opposite  the  open 
door  and  stretching  out  its  kindly  arms  on 
either  side  as  far  as  the  house  reached,  made  a 
network  of  shadows  that  carpeted  the  ground 
like  fine  lace. 

Thornbury  bent  his  head  to  listen.  Far  off 
sounded  the  ripple  of  a  girl's  laugh.  A  little 
wind  caught  it  up  and  it  echoed — fainter — 

[16] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

fainter.     Then  did  his  old  heart  take  to  thump- 
ing hard,  and  his  breath  came  quick. 

"  Ay !  they  be  coming ! "  he  said  half  aloud. 
"  My  lad — an'  lass.  My  lad — an'  lass."  He 
strained  his  eyes  to  see  afar  down  the  road 
if  a  light  might  not  be  swaying  from  side 
to  side.  Presently  he  spied  it,  a  merry  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  and  the  sound  of  voices  came  to 
him. 

So  he  waited  tremblingly. 

Darby  it  was  who  saw  him  first. 

"  'Tis  Dad  at  the  door !  "  he  called,  breaking 
away  from  Debora  and  Berwick. 

The  girl  took  a  step  to  follow,  then  stopped 
and  glanced  up  at  the  man  beside  her.  "  Let 
him  go  on  alone,  Nick,"  she  said.  "  He  hath 
not  seen  Dad  close  onto  two  years,  an'  this  play- 
acting of  his  hath  been  a  bitter  dose  for  my 
father  to  swallow.  In  good  sooth  I  have  small 
patience  with  Dad,  yet  more  am  I  sorry  for  him. 
I'  faith !  I  would  that  maidens  might  also  be  in 
the  play.  Judith  Shakespeare  says  some  day 
they  may  be — but  'twill  serve  me  little.  One  of 
us  at  that  business  is  all  Dad  could  bear  with 
— an'  my  work  is  at  home." 
[17] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  Ay,  Deb !  "  he  answered ;  "  thy  work  is  at 
home,  for  now." 

"  For  always,"  she  answered,  quickly ;  then, 
her  tone  changing,  "  think'st  thou  not,  Nick, 
that  my  Darby  is  taller?  An'  did'st  note  how 
handsome?  " 

"  He  is  a  handsome  fellow,"  answered  Ber- 
wick. "  Still,  I  cannot  see  that  he  hath  grown. 
He  will  not  be  of  large  pattern." 

"  Marry ! "  cried  the  girl,  "  Darby  is  a  good 
head  taller  than  I.  Where  dost  thou  keep  thine 
eyes,  Nick  ?  " 

"  Nay,  verily,  then,  he  is  not,"  answered  the 
other ;  "  thou  art  almost  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
an'  still  as  much  alike — I  saw  by  the  lantern — 
as  of  old,  when  save  for  thy  dress  'twas  a  puz- 
zle to  say  which  was  which.  'Tis  a  reasonable 
likeness,  as  thou  art  twins." 

Debora  pursed  up  her  lips.  "  He  is  much 
taller  than  I,"  she  said,  determinedly.  "  Thou 
art  no  friend  o'  mine,  Nicholas  Berwick,  an' 
thou  dost  cut  three  full  inches  off  my  brother's 
height.  He  is  a  head  taller,  an*  mayhap  more 
—so." 

They  were  drawing  up  to  the  inn  now,  and 
[18] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

through  the  window  saw  the  little  group  about 
the  fire,  Darby  with  the  baby,  who  was  fully 
awake,  perched  high  on  his  shoulder. 

Berwick  caught  Deb  gently,  swinging  her 
close  to  him,  as  they  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  oak. 

"  Ah,  Deb ! "  he  said,  bending  his  face  to 
hers,  "  thou  could'st  make  me  swear  that  black 
was  white.  As  for  Darby,  the  lad  is  as  tall  as 
thou  dost  desire.  Thou  hast  my  word  for't." 

"  'Tis  well  thou  dost  own  it,"  she  said,  frown- 
ing ;  "  though  I  like  not  the  manner  o'  it.  Let 
me  go,  Nick." 

"  Nay,  I  will  not,"  he  said,  passionately. 
"  Be  kind ;  give  me  one  kiss  for  Christmas.  I 
know  thou  hast  no  love  for  me;  thou  hast  told 
me  so  often  enough.  I  will  not  tarry  here, 
Sweet;  'twould  madden  me — but  give  me  one 
kiss  to  remember  when  I  be  gone." 

She  turned  away  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Thou  know'st  me  better  than  to  ask  it,"  she 
said,  softly.  "  Kisses  are  not  things  to  give 
because  'tis  Christmas." 

The  man  let  go  his  hold  of  her,  his  handsome 
face  darkening. 

[19] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Dost  hate  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nay,  then,  I  hate  thee  not,"  with  a  little 
toss  of  her  head.  "  Neither  do  I  love  thee." 

"Dost  love  any  other?  Come,  tell  me  for 
love's  sake,  sweetheart.  An'  I  thought  so !  " 

"  Marry,  no !  "  she  said.  Then  with  a  short, 
half -checked  laugh,  "  Well — Prithee  but  one !  " 

"  Ah!  "  cried  Berwick,  "  is't  so?  " 

"  Verily,"  she  answered  mockingly.  "  It  is  so 
in  truth,  an'  'tis  just  Dad.  As  for  Darby,  I 
cannot  tell  what  I  feel  for  him.  'Twould  be 
full  as  easy  to  say  were  I  to  put  it  to  myself, 
'  Dost  love  Debora  Thornbury  ?  '  '  Yea  '  or 
'  Nay,'  for,  Heaven  knows,  sometimes  I  love  her 
mightily — and  sometimes  I  don't;  an'  then  'tis 
a  fearsome  *  don't,'  Nick.  But  come  thee  in." 

"  No !  "  answered  Berwick,  bitterly.  "  I  am 
not  one  of  you."  Catching  her  little  hands  he 
held  them  a  moment  against  his  coat,  and  the 
girl  felt  the  heavy  beating  of  his  heart  before 
he  let  them  fall,  and  strode  away. 

She  stood  on  the  step  looking  after  the  soli- 
tary figure.  Her  cheeks  burned,  and  she  tapped 
her  foot  impatiently  on  the  threshold. 

"  Ever  it  doth  end  thus,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
[20] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

not  one  of  you,"  echoing  his  tone.  "  In  good 
sooth  no.  Neither  is  old  Ned  Saddler  or  dear 
John  Sevenoakes.  We  be  but  three;  just  Dad, 
an'  Darby,  an'  Deb."  Then,  another  thought 
coming  to  her.  "  Nay  four  when  I  count  little 
Dorian.  Little  Dorian,  sweet  lamb, — an'  so  I 
will  count  him  till  I  find  his  father." 

A  shade  went  over  her  face  but  vanished  as 
she  entered  the  room. 

"  I  have  given  thee  time  to  take  a  long  look 
at  Darby,  Dad,"  she  cried.  "  Is't  not  good  to 
have  him  at  home  ?  "  slipping  one  arm  around 
her  brother's  throat  and  leaning  her  head 
against  him. 

"  Where  be  the  coach,  truant  ?  "  asked  Sad- 
dler. 

"  It  went  round  by  the  Bidford  road — there 
was  no  other  traveller  for  us.  Marry,  I  care 
not  for  coaches  nor  travellers  now  I  have  Darby 
safe  here !  See,  Dad,  he  hath  become  a  fine  gen- 
tleman. Did'st  note  how  grand  he  is  in  his 
manner,  an'  what  a  rare  tone  his  voice  hath 
taken?" 

The  handsome  boy  flushed  a  little  and  gave 
a  half  embarrassed  laugh. 
[21] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  Nay,  Debora,  I  have  not  changed ;  'tis  thy 
fancy.  My  doublet  hath  a  less  rustical  cut  and 
is  of  different  stuff  from  any  seen  hereabout, 
and  my  hose  and  boots  fit — which  could  not  be 
said  of  them  in  olden  times.  This  fashion  of 
ruff  moreover,"  touching  it  with  dainty  com- 
placency, "  this  fashion  of  ruff  is  such  as  the 
Queen's  Players  themselves  wear." 

Old  Thornbury's  brows  contracted  darkly  and 
the  girl  turned  to  him  with  a  laugh. 

"  Oh — Dad !  Dad !  thou  must  e'en  learn  to 
hear  of  the  playhouses,  an'  actors  with  a  better 
grace  than  that.  Note  the  wry  face  he  doth 
make,  Darby ! " 

"  I  have  little  stomach  for  their  follies  and 
buffooneries — albeit  my  son  be  one  of  them," 
the  innkeeper  answered,  in  sharp  tone.  Then 
struggling  with  some  intense  inward  feeling, 
"  Still  I  am  not  a  man  to  go  half-way,  Darby. 
Thou  hast  chosen  for  thyself,  an'  the  blame 
will  not  be  mine  if  thy  road  be  the  wrong  one. 
Thou  canst  walk  upright  on  any  highway,  lad." 

"  Ay !  "  put  in  old  Saddler,  "  Ay,  neighbour, 
but  a  wilful  lad  must  have  his  way." 

Soon  old  Marjorie  came  in  and  clattered 
[22] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

about  the  supper  table,  after  having  made  a 
great  to-do  over  the  young  master. 

Thornbury  poured  the  hot  spiced  wine  into 
an  ancient  punch-bowl,  and  set  it  in  the  centre 
of  the  simple  feast,  and  they  all  drew  their 
chairs  up  to  the  table  as  the  bells  in  Stratford 
rang  Christmas  in. 

Never  had  the  inn  echoed  to  more  joyous 
laughing  and  talking,  for  Thornbury  and  his 
two  old  friends  mellowed  in  temper  as  they  re- 
filled their  flagons,  and  they  even  added  to  the 
occasion  by  each  rendering  a  song.  Saddler 
bringing  one  forth  from  the  dim  recesses  of  his 
memory  that  related,  in  seventeen  verses  and 
much  monotonous  chorus,  the  love  affairs  of  a 
certain  Dinah  Linn. 

The  child  slumbered  again  on  the  oak  settle 
in  the  inglenook.  The  firelight  danced  over  his 
yellow  hair  and  pretty  dimpled  hands.  The 
candles  burned  low.  Then  Darby  sang  in  flute- 
like  voice  a  carol,  that  was,  as  he  told  them, 
"  the  rage  in  London,"  and,  afterwards,  just 
to  please  Deb,  the  old  song  that  will  never  wear 
out  its  welcome  at  Christmas-tide,  "  When  shep- 
herds watched  their  flocks." 
[23] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

The  girl  would  have  joined  him,  but  there 
came  a  tightness  in  her  throat,  and  the  hot 
stinging  of  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  when  the  last 
note  of  it  went  into  silence  she  said  good  night, 
lifted  the  sleeping  child  and  carried  him  away. 

"  Deb  grows  more  beautiful,  Dad,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  looking  after  her.  "  Egad !  what 
a  carriage  she  hath !  She  steps  like  a  very  prin- 
cess of  the  blood.  Hark!  then,"  going  to  the 
latticed  window  and  throwing  it  open.  "  Here 
come  the  waits,  Dad,  as  motley  a  crowd  as  ever." 

The  innkeeper  was  trimming  the  lantern  and 
seeing  his  neighbours  to  the  door. 

"  Keep  well  hold  of  each  other,"  called  Darby 
after  them.  "  I  trow  'tis  a  timely  proverb — 
'  United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.' ' 

Saddler  turned  with  a  chuckle  and  shook  his 
fist  at  the  lad,  but  lurched  dangerously  in  the 
operation. 

"  The  apples  were  too  highly  spiced  for  such 
as  thee,"  said  Thornbury,  laughing.  "  Thou 
had'st  best  stick  to  caudles  an'  small  beer." 

"  Nay,  then,  neighbour,"  called  back  Seven- 
oakes,  with  much  solemnity,  "  Christmas  comes 
but  once  a  year,  when  it  comes  it  brings  good 
[24] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

cheer  —  'tis    no    time    for    caudles,    or    small 
beer !  " 

At  this  Darby  went  into  such  a  peal  of 
laughter — in  which  the  waits  who  were  discor- 
dantly tuning  up  joined  him — that  the  sound 
of  it  must  have  awakened  the  very  echoes  in 
Stratford  town. 


[25] 


CHAPTER    II 


II 


DURING  the  days  following  Christmas, 
One  Tree  Inn  was  given  over  to  fes- 
tivity. It  had  always  been  a  favoured 
spot  with  the  young  people  from  Stratford  and 
Shottery.  In  spring  they  came  trooping  to 
Master  Thornbury's  meadow,  bringing  their 
flower-crowned  queen  and  ribbon-decked  May- 
pole. It  was  there  they  had  their  games  of 
barley-break,  blindman's  buff  and  the  merry 
cushion  dance  during  the  long  summer  evenings ; 
and  when  dusk  fell  they  would  stroll  homeward 
through  the  lanes  sweet  with  flowering  hedges, 
each  one  of  them  all  carrying  a  posy  from  Deb 
Thornbury's  garden — for  where  else  grew  such 
wondrous  clove-pinks,  ragged  lady,  lad's  love, 
sweet-william  and  Queen  Anne's  lace,  as  there? 
So  now  these  old  playmates  of  Darby's  came 
one  by  one  to  welcome  him  home  and  gaze  at 
him  in  unembarrassed  admiration. 

Judith  Shakespeare,  who  was  a  friend  and 

gossip  of  Debora's,  spent  many  evenings  with 

them,  and  those  who  knew  the  little  maid  best 

alone  could  say  what  that  meant,  for  never  was 

[29] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

there  a  gayer  lass,  or  one  who  had  a  prettier 
wit.  To  hear  Judith  enlarging  upon  her  daily 
experiences  with  people  and  things,  was  to  lis- 
ten to  thrilling  tales,  garnished  and  gilded  in 
fanciful  manner,  till  the  commonplace  became 
delightful,  and  life  in  Stratford  town  a  thing 
to  be  desired  above  the  simple  passing  of  days 
in  other  places. 

No  trivial  occurrence  went  by  this  little 
daughter  of  the  great  poet  without  making 
some  vivid  impression  upon  her  mind,  for  she 
viewed  the  every-day  world  lying  beside  the 
peaceful  Avon  through  the  wonderful  rose-col- 
oured glasses  of  youth,  and  an  imagination  be- 
queathed to  her  direct  from  her  father. 

It  was  on  an  evening  when  Judith  Shake- 
speare was  with  them  and  Deb  was  roasting 
chestnuts  by  the  hearth,  that  they  fell  to  talk- 
ing of  London,  and  the  marvellous  way  people 
had  of  living  there. 

A  sudden  storm  had  blown  up,  flakes  of 
frozen  snow  came  whirling  against  the  windows, 
beating  a  fairy  rataplan  on  the  frosted  glass, 
while  the  heavy  boughs  of  the  old  oak  creaked 
and  groaned  in  the  wind.  Darby  and  the  two 
[30] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

girls  listened  to  the  sounds  without  and  drew 
their  chairs  nearer  the  fire  with  a  sense  of  the 
warm  comfort  of  the  long  cheery  room.  They 
chatted  about  the  city  and  the  pleasures  and 
pastimes  that  held  sway  there,  doings  that 
seemed  so  extravagant  to  country-bred  folk, 
and  that  often  turned  night  into  day — a  day 
moreover  not  akin  to  any  spent  elsewhere  on  top 
of  the  earth. 

"  Dost  sometimes  act  in  the  same  play  with 
my  father,  Darby,  at  the  Globe  Theatre? " 
asked  Judith,  after  a  pause  in  the  conversation, 
and  at  a  moment  when  the  innkeeper  had  just 
left  the  room. 

The  girl  was  sitting  in  a  chair  whose  oaken 
frame  was  black  with  age.  Now  she  grasped 
the  arms  of  it  tightly,  and  Darby  noted  the 
beautiful  form  of  her  hands  and  the  tapering 
delicate  fingers;  he  saw  also  a  nervous  tremor 
go  through  them  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh !  I  would  know  somewhat  of  my  father's 
life  in  London,"  continued  Judith,  "  and  of  the 
people  he  meets  there.  He  hath  acquaintance 
with  many  gentlemen  of  the  Queen's  Court  and 
Parliament,  for  he  hath  twice  been  bidden  to 
[31] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

play  in  Her  Majesty's  theatre  in  the  palace  at 
Greenwich.  Yet  of  all  those  doings  of  his  and 
of  the  nobles  who  make  much  of  him  he  doth 
say  so  little,  Darby." 

Debora,  who  was  standing  by  the  high  man- 
tel, turned  towards  her  brother  expectantly. 
She  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes — shadowy  eyes 
of  a  blue  that  was  not  all  blue,  but  had  a  glint 
of  green  about  it — her  eyes  burned  as  though 
they  held  imprisoned  a  bit  of  living  light,  like 
the  fire  in  an  opal. 

The  young  player  smiled ;  he  was  looking  in- 
tently into  the  glowing  coals  and  for  the  in- 
stant his  thoughts  seemed  far  away  from  the 
tranquil  home  scene. 

There  was  no  pose  of  Darby's  figure  which 
was  not  graceful;  he  was  always  a  picture  even 
to  those  who  knew  him  best,  and  it  was  to  this 
unconscious  grace  probably  more  than  actual 
talent  that  his  measure  of  success  upon  the 
stage  was  due.  Now  as  he  leant  forward,  his 
elbow  on  his  knee,  his  chin  on  his  white,  almost 
girlish  hand,  the  burnished  auburn  love-locks 
shading  his  oval  face,  and  matching  in  colour 
the  outward  sweeping  lashes  of  his  eyes,  Judith 
[32] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

could  not  look  away  from  him  the  while  she 
waited  his  tardy  answer. 

After  a  moment  he  came  out  of  his  brown 
study  with  a  little  start,  and  glanced  over  at 
her. 

"  Ah,  Judith,  an'  the  master  will  give  you 
but  scant  information  on  those  points,  why 
should  I  give  more?  As  for  the  playhouses 
where  he  is  constantly,  now  peradventure  he  is 
fore-wearied  of  them  when  once  at  home,  or," 
with  a  slight  uplifting  of  his  brows,  "  or  else 
he  think'th  them  no  topics  for  a  young  maid," 
he  ended  somewhat  priggishly. 

"  'Tis  ever  so ! "  Judith  answered  with  im- 
patience. "  Thou  wilt  give  a  body  no  satisfac- 
tion either.  Soul  o'  me!  but  men  be  all  alike. 
If  ever  I  have  a  husband  —  which  heaven 
forbid! — I  shall  fare  to  London  four  times 
o'  the  year  an'  see  for  myself  what  it  be 
like." 

"  I  am  going  to  London  with  Darby  when  he 
doth  go  back  again,"  said  Debora,  speaking 
with  quiet  deliberation.  Thornbury  entered  the 
room  at  the  moment  and  heard  what  his  daugh- 
ter said.  The  man  caught  at  the  edge  of  the 
[33] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

heavy  table  by  which  he  stood,  as  though  need- 
ing to  hold  by  it.  He  waited  there,  unheeded 
by  the  three  around  the  hearth. 

"  Thou  art  joking,  Deb,"  answered  her 
brother  after  an  astonished  pause.  "  Egad ! 
how  could' st  thou  fare  to  London?  " 

"  I*  faith,  how  could  I  fare  to  London  ?  "  she 
said  with  spirit,  mimicking  his  tone.  "  An'  are 
there  no  maids  in  London  then?  An'  there  be 
not,  my  faith,  t'were  time  they  saw  what  one  is 
like!  Prithee,  I  have  reason  to  believe  I  could 
pass  a  marvellous  pleasant  month  there  if  all 
I  hear  be  true.  What  say'th  thou,  Judith,  to 
coming  with  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  sweetheart,"  answered  the  girl,  ris- 
ing, "  for  all  I  have  protested,  I  would  not  go 
save  my  father  took  me.  His  word  is  my  will 
always,  know'st  thou  not  so?  An*  if  it  be  his 
pleasure  that  I  go  not  to  London — well  then, 
I  have  no  mind  to  go.  That  is  just  my  thought 
of  it.  But,"  sighing  a  little,  "  thou  art  wiser 
than  I,  for  thou  can'st  read  books,  an'  did'st 
keep  pace  with  Darby  page  for  page,  when  he 
went  to  Stratford  grammar  school.  Further- 
more, thou  art  given  thy  own  way  more  than 
[34] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

I,  and  art  so  different — so  vastly  different — 
Deb." 

"  Truly,  yes,"  Debora  answered.  Then,  fling- 
ing out  her  arms,  and  tossing  her  head  up  with 
a  quick,  petulant  gesture,  "  Oh,  I  wish,  I  wish 
ten  thousand-fold  that  I  were  a  man  and  could 
be  with  thee,  Darby.  'Tis  so  tame  and  tanta- 
lizing to  be  but  a  maid  with  this  one  to  say 
*  Gra'  mercy!  Thou  can'st  not  go  there,'  an' 
that  one  to  add  '  Alack !  an'  alack !  however 
cam'st  thou  to  fancy  thou  could'st  do  so?  Art 
void  o'  wit?  Beshrew  me  but  ladies  never  de- 
port themselves  in  such  unmannerly  fashion — 
no,  nor  even  think  on't.  There  is  thy  little 
beaten  track  all  bordered  with  box — 'tis  precise, 
yet  pleasant — walk  thou  in  it  thankfully.  Mar- 
ry, an'  thou  must  not  gaze  over  the  hedges 
neither ! '  " 

A  deep,  sweet  laugh  followed  her  words  as 
an  echo,  and  a  man  tall  and  finely  built  came 
striding  over  from  the  door  where  he  had  been 
standing  in  shadow,  an  amused  listener.  He 
put  his  two  hands  on  the  girl's  shoulders  and 
looked  down  into  the  beautiful,  rebellious  face. 

"  Heigho,  and  heigho !  "  he  said.  "  Just  lis- 
[35] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

ten  to  this  mutinous  one,  good  Master  Thorn- 
bury!  Here  is  a  whirlwind  in  petticoats  equal 
to  my  pretty  shrew  who  was  so  well  tamed  at 
the  last.  Marry,  an'  I  could  show  them  such  a 
brilliant  bit  of  acting  at  the  new  Globe — such 
tone !  such  intensity !  'twould  surely  inspire  the 
Company  and  so  lighten  my  work  by  a  hundred- 
fold. But,  alas !  while  we  have  but  lads  to  play 
the  parts  that  maidens  should  take,  acting  is 
oft  a  very  weariness  and  giveth  one  an  ache  o' 
the  heart ! " 

"  Thou  would'st  not  have  me  upon  the  stage, 
father?  "  said  Judith,  looking  at  him. 

The  man  smiled  down  at  her,  then  his  face 
grew  suddenly  grave  and  his  hazel  eyes  nar- 
rowed. 

"  By  all  the  gods — No ! — not  tliee  sweetheart. 
But,"  his  voice  changing,  "  but  there  are  those 
I  would.  We  must  away,  neighbour  Thornbury. 
I  am  due  in  London  shortly,  and  need  the  night's 
rest." 

They  pressed  him  to  stay  longer,  but  he 
would  not  tarry.  So  Judith  tied  on  her  hooded 
cloak,  and  many  a  warm  good-bye  was  spoken. 

The  innkeeper,  with  Darby  and  Debora,  stood 
[36] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

on  the  threshold  and  watched  the  two  take  the 
road  to  Stratford;  and  the  sky  was  pranked 
out  with  many  a  golden  star,  for  the  storm  had 
blown  over,  and  the  night  winds  were  at  peace. 

After  they  entered  the  house  a  silence  settled 
over  the  little  group.  The  child  Dorian  slept 
on  the  cushioned  settle,  for  he  was  sorely  spoilt 
by  Debora,  who  would  not  have  him  go  above 
stairs  till  she  carried  him  up  herself.  The  girl 
sat  down  beside  him  now  and  watched  Darby, 
who  was  carving  a  strange  head  upon  a  stout 
bit  of  wood  cut  from  the  tree  before  the  door. 

"  What  art  so  busy  over,  lad  ?  "  asked  Thorn- 
bury.  His  voice  trembled,  and  there  was  an  un- 
usual pallor  on  his  face. 

"  5Tis  but  a  bit  of  home  I  will  take  away 
with  me,  Dad.  In  an  act  of  '  Romeo  and 
Juliet,'  the  new  play  we  are  but  rehearsing,  I 
carry  a  little  cane.  I  am  a  dashing  fellow,  one 
Mercutio.  I  would  thou  could' st  see  me.  Well- 
a-day!  I  have  just  an  odd  fancy  for  this  bit 
o'  the  old  tree." 

Debora  rose  and  went  over  to  her  father. 
She  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm  and  patted  it 
gently. 

[37] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  I  would  go  to  London,  Dad,"  she  said 
coaxingly.  "  Nay,  I  must  go  to  London,  Dad. 
I  pray  thee  put  no  stumbling  blocks  in  the  way 
o'  it — but  be  kind  as  thou  art  always.  See !  an* 
thou  dost  let  me  away  I  will  stay  but  a  month, 
a  short  month — but  four  weeks — it  doth  seem 
shorter  to  say  it  so — an'  then  I'll  fare  home 
again  swiftly  an'  bide  in  content.  Oh!  think 
of  it,  Dad !  to  go  to  London !  It  is  to  go  where 
one  can  hear  the  heart  of  the  whole  world  beat !  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  in  feeble  remon- 
strance. 

"  Thou  wilt  fare  there  an'  thou  hast  the 
mind,  Deb,  but  thou  wilt  never  come  back  an' 
bide  in  peace  at  One  Tree  Inn." 

The  girl  suddenly  wound  her  arms  about  his 
neck  and  laid  her  cool  sweet  face  against  his. 
When  she  raised  it,  it  glistened  with  tears. 

"I  will,  Dad!  I  will,  I  will,"  she  cried 
softly,  then  bent  and  caught  little  Dorian  up 
and  went  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 


[38] 


CHAPTER    III 


Ill 


THE  house  in  London  where  Darby 
Thornbury  lodged  was  on  the  south- 
ern side  of  the  Thames  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  theatres,  a  part  of  the  city 
known  as  Bankside.  The  mistress  of  the  house 
was  one  Dame  Blossom,  a  wholesome-looking 
woman  who  had  passed  her  girlhood  at  Shot- 
tery,  and  remembered  Darby  and  Debora  when 
they  were  but  babies.  It  was  on  this  account, 
probably,  that  she  gave  to  the  young  actor  an 
amount  of  consideration  and  comfort  he  could 
not  have  found  elsewhere  in  the  whole  of  South- 
wark.  When  he  returned  from  his  holiday, 
bringing  his  sister  with  him,  she  welcomed  them 
with  a  heartiness  that  lacked  no  tone  of  abso- 
lute sincerity. 

The  winter  had  broken  when  the  two  reached 
London;  there  was  even  a  hint  of  Spring  in 
the  air,  though  it  was  but  February,  and  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  be  waking  after  a  sleep. 
At  least  that  was  the  way  it  felt  to  Debora 
Thornbury.  For  then  began  a  life  so  rich  in 
enjoyment,  so  varied  and  full  of  new  delights 
[41] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

that  she  sometimes,  when  brushing  that  heavy 
hair  of  hers  before  the  little  copper  mirror  in 
the  high  room  that  looked  away  to  the  river, 
paused  as  in  a  half  dream,  vaguely  wondering 
if  she  were  in  reality  the  very  maid  who  had 
lived  so  long  and  quietly  at  the  old  Inn  away 
there  in  the  pleasant  Warwickshire  country. 

Her  impulsive  nature  responded  eagerly  to 
the  rapid  flow  of  life  in  the  city,  and  she 
received  each  fresh  impression  with  vivid  inter- 
est and  pleasure.  There  was  a  new  sparkle  in 
her  changeful  blue  eyes,  and  the  colour  drifted 
in  and  out  of  her  face  with  every  passing 
emotion. 

Darby  also,  it  struck  the  girl,  was  quite  dif- 
ferent here  in  London.  There  was  an  unde- 
fined something  about  him,  a  certain  assurance 
both  of  himself  and  the  situation  that  she  had 
never  noticed  before.  Truly  they  had  not  seen 
anything  of  each  other  for  the  past  two  years, 
but  he  appeared  unchanged  when  he  came  home 
at  Christmas.  A  trifle  more  manly  looking  per- 
chance, and  with  a  somewhat  greater  elegance 
of  manner  and  speech,  yet  in  verity  the  same 
Darby  as  of  old;  here  in  the  city  it  was  not  so, 
[42] 


A  MAID  OF  MANY  MOODS 

there  was  a  dashing  way  about  him  now,  a  fop- 
pishness, an  elaborate  attention  to  every  detail 
of  fashion  and  custom  that  he  had  not  burdened 
himself  with  at  the  little  half-way  house.  The 
hours  he  kept  moreover  were  very  late  and  un- 
certain, and  this  sorely  troubled  his  sister.  Still 
each  morning  he  spoke  so  freely  of  the  many 
gentlemen  he  had  been  with  the  evening  before 
— at  the  Tabard — or  the  Falcon — or  even  the 
Devil's  Tavern  near  Temple  Bar — where  De- 
bora  had  gazed  open-eyed  at  the  flaunting  sign 
of  St.  Dunstan  tweaking  the  devil  by  the  nose 
— indeed,  all  these  places  he  mentioned  so  en- 
tirely as  a  matter  of  course,  that  she  soon  ceased 
to  worry  over  the  hour  he  returned.  The  names 
of  Marlowe  and  Richard  Burbage,  Beaumont, 
Fletcher,  Lodge,  Greene  and  even  Dick  Tarle- 
ton,  became  very  familiar  to  her,  beside  those 
of  many  a  lesser  light  who  was  wont  to  shine 
upon  the  boards.  It  seemed  reasonable  and  fair 
that  Darby  should  wish  to  pass  as  much  time 
with  reputable  players  as  possible,  and  more- 
over he  was  often,  he  said,  with  Ned  Shake- 
speare— who  was  playing  at  Blackfriars — and 
the  girl  knew  that  where  he  was,  the  master 
[43] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

himself  was  most  likely  to  be  for  shorter  or 
longer  time,  for  he  ever  shadowed  his  brother's 
life  with  loving  care. 

Through  the  day,  when  he  was  not  at  the 
theatre,  Darby  took  his  sister  abroad  to  see  the 
sights.  The  young  actor  was  proud  to  be  seen 
with  her,  and  though  he  loved  her  for  her  own 
sweet  sake,  perhaps  there  was  more  than  a  trifle 
of  vanity  mixed  with  the  pleasure  he  obtained 
from  showing  the  city  to  one  so  easily  charmed 
and  entertained. 

The  whispered  words  of  admiration  that 
caught  his  ear  as  Debora  stood  beside  him  here 
and  there  in  the  public  gardens  and  places  of 
amusement,  were  as  honey  to  his  taste.  And  it 
may  be  because  they  were  acknowledged  to  be 
so  strikingly  alike  that  it  pleased  his  fancy  to 
have  my  lord  this — and  the  French  Count  of 
that — the  beaus  and  young  bloods  of  the  town 
who  haunted  the  playhouses  and  therefore  knew 
the  actors  well — plead  with  him,  after  having 
seen  Debora  once,  to  be  allowed  to  pay  her  at 
least  some  slight  attention  and  courtesy. 

But  Darby  Thornbury  knew  his  time  and  the 
.men  of  it,  and  where  his  little  sister  was  con- 
[44] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

cerned  his  actions  were  cool  and  calculating  to 
a  degree. 

He  was  careful  to  keep  her  away  from  those 
places  where  she  would  chance  to  meet  and  be- 
come acquainted  with  any  of  the  players  whom 
she  knew  so  well  by  name,  and  this  the  girl 
thought  passing  strange.  Further,  he  would 
not  take  her  to  the  theatres,  though  in  truth 
she  pleaded,  argued,  and  finally  lost  her  tem- 
per over  it. 

"  Nay,  Deb,"  said  her  brother  loftily,  "  let 
me  be  the  best  judge  of  where  I  take  thee  and 
whom  thou  dost  meet.  I  have  not  lived  in  Lon- 
don more  than  twice  twelve  months  for  naught. 
Thou,  sweeting,  art  as  fresh  and  dew-washed  as 
the  lilac  bushes  under  Dad's  window — and  as 
green.  Therefore,  I  pray  thee  allow  me  to  de- 
cide these  matters.  Did  I  not  take  thee  to 
Greenwich  but  yesterday  to  view  the  Queen's 
Plaisance,  as  the  place  is  rightly  named? — Me- 
thinks  I  can  smell  yet  that  faint  scent  of  roses 
that  so  pervaded  the  place.  Egad!  'tis  not 
every  lass  hath  luck  enow  to  see  the  very  rooms 
Her  Majesty  hath  graced.  Marry  no!  Such 
tapestries  and  draperies  laced  with  Spanish 
[45] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

gold-thread!  Such  ancient  portraits  and  min- 
iatures set  on  ivory !  Such  chairs  and  tables 
inlaid  thick  with  mother  o*  pearl  and  beaten 
silver!  That  feast  of  the  eye  should  last  thee 
awhile  and  save  thy  temper  from  going  off  at 
a  tangent." 

Debora  lifted  her  straight  brows  by  way  of 
answer,  and  her  red  curved  mouth  set  itself  in 
a  dangerously  firm  line;  but  Darby  appeared 
not  to  notice  these  warning  signals  and  con- 
tinued in  more  masterful  tone : — 

"  Moreover,  I  took  thee  to  the  Paris  Gardens 
on  a  day  when  there  was  a  passable  show,  and 
one  'twas  possible  for  a  maid  to  view,  yet  even 
then  much  against  my  will  and  better  judg- 
ment. I  have  taken  thee  to  the  notable  churches 
and  famous  tombs.  Thou  hast  seen  the  pike 
ponds  and  the  park  and  palace  of  the  Lord 
Bishop  of  Winchester!  And  further,  thou  hast 
walked  with  me  again  and  again  through  Pim- 
lico  Garden  when  the  very  fashion  of  the  city 
was  abroad.  Ah!  and  Nonsuch  House!  Hast 
forgotten  Nonsuch  House  on  London  Bridge, 
and  how  we  climbed  the  gilded  stairway  and 
went  up  into  the  cupola  for  a  fair  outlook  at 
[46] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

the  river?  'Tis  a  place  to  be  remembered. 
Why,  they  brought  it  over  from  France  piece- 
meal, so  'tis  said,  and  put  it  together  with  great 
wooden  pegs  instead  of  nails.  The  city  was 
sorely  taxed  for  it  all,  doubtless."  He  waited 
half  a  moment,  apparently  for  some  response, 
but  as  none  came,  went  on  again: 

"  As  for  the  shops  and  streets,  thou  know'st 
them  by  heart,  for  there  has  not  been  a  day  o' 
fog  since  we  came  to  keep  us  in.  Art  not  satis- 
fied, sweet?  " 

"  Nay  then  I  am  not !  "  she  answered,  with  an 
impatient  gesture.  "  Thou  dost  know  mightily 
well  'tis  the  playhouses,  the  playhouses  I  would 
see ! " 

"  'Fore  Heaven  now !  Did  a  man  ever  listen 
to  such  childishness ! "  cried  Darby.  "  And 
hast  not  seen  them  then?  " 

"  Marry,  no !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  lovely  face 
reddening. 

"  Now,  by  St.  George !  Then  'twas  for 
naught  I  let  thee  gaze  so  long  on  '  The  Swan,' 
and  I  would  thou  could'st  just  have  seen  thine 
eyes  when  they  ran  up  the  red  flag  with  the 
swan  broidered  upon  it.  Ay !  and  also  when 
[47] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

their  trumpeter  blew  that  ear-splitting  blast 
which  is  their  barbarous  unmannerly  fashion  of 
calling  the  masses  in  and  announcing  the  play 
hath  opened." 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but  beat  a  soft,  quick 
tattoo  with  her  little  foot  on  the  sanded  floor. 

After  watching  her  in  amused  silence  Darby 
again  returned  to  his  tantalising  recital. 

"  And  I   pointed  out,  as  we  passed  it,  the 

*  Rose  Theatre  '  where  the  Lord  High  Admiral's 
men  have  the  boards.     Fine  gentlemen  all,  and 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  the  Earl  of  Pembroke's 
players,  though  they  care  little  for  our  Com- 
pany.    Since  we  have  been  giving  Will  Shake- 
speare's comedies,  the  run  of  luck  hath  been  too 
much  with  us  to  make  us  vastly  popular.    Anon, 
I  showed  thee  *  The  Hope,'  dost  not  remember 
the  red-tiled  roof  of  it?    'Tis  a  private  theatre, 
an'  marvellous  comfortable,  they  tell  me.     An' 
thou  has  forgotten  all  those;  thou  surely  canst 
bring  to  mind  the  morning  we  were  in  Shore- 
ditch,  how  I  stopped  before  '  The  Fortune  '  and 

*  The  Curtain '  with  thee  ?     'Tis  an  antiquated 
place  '  The  Curtain/  but  the  playhouse  where 
Master  Shakespeare  first   appeared,  and   even 

[48] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

now  well  patronised,  for  Ben  Jonson's  new  com- 
edy '  Every  Man  in  his  Humour '  is  running 
there  to  full  houses,  an*  Dick  Burbage  himself 
hath  the  leading  part." 

He  paused  again,  a  merry  light  in  his  eyes 
and  his  lips  twitching  a  little. 

"  Thou  didst  see  '  The  Globe '  an'  my  mem- 
ory fails  me  not,  Deb?  'Tis  our  summer  the- 
atre— where  I  fain  we  could  play  all  year  round 
— but  that  is  so  far  impossible  as  'tis  open  to 
the  sky,  and  a  shower  o'  cold  rain  or  an  im- 
promptu sprinkling  of  sleet  on  one,  in  critical 
moments  of  the  play,  hath  disastrous  effect. 
Come,  thou  surely  hast  not  forgotten  '  The 
Globe,'  where  we  of  the  Lord  High  Chamber- 
lain's Company  have  so  oft  disported  ourselves. 
Above  the  entrance  there  is  the  huge  sign  of 
Atlas  carrying  his  load  and  beneath,  the  words 
in  Latin,  '  All  the  world  acts  a  play,' ' 

Debora  tossed  her  head  and  caught  her  breath 
quickly.  "  My  patience  is  gone  with  thee,  since 
thou  art  minded  to  take  me  for  a  very  fool, 
Darby  Thornbury,"  she  said  with  short  cutting 
inflection.  "  Hearts  mercy !  'Tis  not  the  out- 
side o'  the  playhouses  I  desire  to  see,  as  thou 
[49] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

dost  understand — 'tis  the  inside — where  Master 
Shakespeare  is  and  the  great  Burbage,  an' 
Kemp,  an'  all  o'  them.  Be  not  so  unkind  to 
thy  little  sister.  I  would  go  in  an'  see  the  play 
— Marry  an'  amen!  I  am  beside  myself  to  go 
in  with  thee,  Darby !  " 

The  young  actor  frowned.  "  Nay  then, 
Deb,"  he  answered,  "  those  ladies  (an'  I  strain 
a  point  to  call  them  so)  who  enter,  are  usually 
masked.  I  would  not  have  thee  of  them.  The 
play  is  but  for  men,  like  the  bear-baiting  and 
bull-baiting  places." 

"  How  can'st  thou  tell  me  such  things,"  she 
cried,  "an'  so  belittle  the  stage?  Listen  now! 
this  did  I  hear  thee  saying  over  and  over  last 
night.  So  wonderful  it  was — and  rarely, 
strangely  beautiful — yet  fearful — it  chilled  the 
blood  o'  my  heart!  Still  I  remembered." 

Rising  the  girl  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the 
room  with  slow,  pretty  movement,  then  lifted 
her  face,  so  like  Darby's  own — pausing  as 
though  she  listened. 

Her  brother  could  only  gaze  at  her  as  she 
stood  thus,  her  plain  grey  gown  lying  in  folds 
about  her,  the  sun  burnishing  the  red-gold  of 
[50] 


A    MAIDOF    MANY    MOODS 

her  hair;  but  when  she  began  to  speak  he  for- 
got all  else  and  only  for  the  moment  heard 
Juliet — the  very  Juliet  the  world's  poet  must 
have  dreamed  of. 

On  and  on  she  spoke  with  thrilling  intensity. 
Her  voice,  in  its  full  sweetness,  never  once  failed 
or  lost  the  words.  It  was  the  long  soliloquy  of 
the  maid  of  Capulet  in  the  potion  scene.  After 
she  finished  she  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment, 
then  swayed  a  little  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  It  taketh  my  very  life  to  speak  the  words 
so,"  she  said  slowly,  "  yet  the  wonder  of  them 
doth  carry  me  away  from  myself.  But,"  going 
over  to  Darby,  "  but,  dear  heart,  how  dost  come 
thou  art  studying  such  a  part?  'Tis  just  for 
the  love  of  it  surely !  " 

The  player  rose  and  walked  to  the  small  win- 
dow. He  stood  there  quite  still  and  answered 
nothing. 

Debora  laid  one  firm,  soft  hand  upon  his  and 
spoke,  half  coaxingly,  half  diffidently,  alto- 
gether as  though  touching  some  difficult  ques- 
tion. 

"Dost  take  the  part  o'  Juliet,  dear  heart?" 
[51] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Ay ! "  he  answered,  with  a  short,  hard 
laugh.  "  They  have  cast  me  for  it,  without  my 
consent.  At  first  I  was  given  the  lines  of  Mer- 
cutio,  then,  after  all  my  labour  over  the  char- 
acter— an'  I  did  not  spare  myself — was  called 
on  to  give  it  up.  There  has  been  difficulty  in 
finding  a  Juliet,  for  Cecil  Davenant,  who  hath 
the  sweetest  voice  for  a  girl's  part  of  any  o' 
us,  fell  suddenly  ill.  In  an  evil  moment  'twas 
decided  I  might  make  shift  to  take  the  char- 
acter, for  none  other  in  the  Company  com'th 
so  near  it  in  voice,  they  say,  though  Ned  Shake- 
speare hath  a  pink  and  white  face,  comely  enow 
for  any  girl.  Beshrew  me,  sweetheart — but  I 
loathe  the  taking  of  such  parts.  To  succeed 
doth  certainly  bespeak  some  womanish  beauty  in 
one — to  fail  doth  mar  the  play.  At  best  I  must 
be  as  the  Master  says,  *  too  young  to  be  a  man, 
too  old  to  be  a  boy.'  'Tis  but  the  third  time 
I  have  essayed  such  a  role,  an  't  shall  be  the 
last,  I  swear." 

"  I  would  I  could  take  the  part  o'  Juliet  for 
thee,  Darby,"  said  the  girl,  softly  patting  the 
sleeve  of  his  velvet  tabard. 

"  Thou  art  a  pretty  comforter,"  he  answered, 
[52] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

pinching  her  ear  lightly  and  trying  to  recover 
himself. 

"  'Twould  suit  thee  bravely,  Deb,  yet  I'd 
rather  see  thee  busy  over  a  love  affair  of  thine 
own  at  home  in  Shottery.  Ah,  well!  I'd  best 
whistle  '  Begone  dull  care,'  for  'twill  be  a  good 
week  before  we  give  the  people  the  new  play, 
though  they  clamour  for  it  now.  We  are  but 
rehearsing  as  yet,  and  '  Two  Gentlemen  of  Ve- 
rona '  hath  the  boards." 

"  I  would  I  could  see  the  play  if  but  for  once," 
said  Debora,  clasping  her  hands  about  his  arm. 
"  Indeed,"  coaxingly,  "  thou  could'st  manage  to 
take  me  an'  thou  did'st  have  the  will." 

Darby  knit  his  brows  and  answered  nothing, 
yet  the  girl  fancied  he  was  turning  something 
in  his  mind.  With  a  fair  measure  of  wisdom 
for  one  so  eager  she  forebore  questioning  him 
further,  but  glanced  up  in  his  face,  which  was 
grave  and  unreadable. 

Perchance  when  she  had  given  up  all  hope 
of  any  favourable  answer,  he  spoke. 

"  There  is  a  way — though  it  pleases  me  not, 
Deb — whereby  thou  might  be  able  to  see  the 
rehearsals  at  least.  The  Company  assembles  at 
[53] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

eight  of  the  morning,  thou  dost  know;  now  I 
could  take  thee  in  earlier  by  an  entrance  I  wot 
of,  at  Blackfriars,  a  little  half-hidden  doorway 
but  seldom  used — thence  through  my  tiring- 
room — and  so — and  so — where  dost  think  ?  " 

"  Nay !  I  know  not,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Where 
then,  Darby?" 

"  To  the  Royal  Box !  "  he  answered.  "  'Tis 
fair  above  the  stage,  yet  a  little  to  the  right. 
The  curtains  are  always  drawn  closely  there  to 
save  the  tinselled  velvet  and  cloth  o'  gold  hang- 
ings with  which  't  hath  lately  been  fitted.  Now 
I  will  part  these  drapings  ever  so  little,  yet 
enough  to  give  thee  a  full  sweeping  view  o'  the 
stage,  an'  if  thou  keep'st  well  to  the  back  o' 
the  box,  Deb,  thou  wilt  be  as  invisible  to  us  as 
though  Queen  Mab  had  cast  her  charmed  cloak 
about  thee.  Egad!  there  be  men  amongst  the 
High  Chamberlain's  Players  I  would  not  have 
discover  thee  for  many  reasons,  my  little  sis- 
ter," he  ended,  watching  her  face. 

For  half  a  moment  the  girl's  lips  quivered, 
then  her  eyes  gathered  two  great  tears  which 
rolled  heavily  down  and  lay  glittering  on  her 
grey  kirtle. 

[54] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  'Tis  ever  like  this  with  me !  "  she  exclaimed, 
dashing  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  "  whenever  I 
get  what  I  have  longed  and  longed  for.  First 
com'th  a  ball  i'  my  throat,  then  a  queer  trem- 
bling, an'  I  all  but  cry.  'Tis  vastly  silly  is't 
not,  but  'tis  just  by  reason  o'  being  a  girl  one 
doth  act  so."  Then  eagerly,  "  Thou  would'st 
not  fool  me,  Darby,  or  change  thy  mind? 
Thou  art  in  earnest?  Swear  it!  Cross  thy 
heart!" 

"  Ay !  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  replied,  smiling ; 
"  in  very  truth  thou  shalt  see  thy  brother  turn 
love-sick  maid  and  mince  giddily  about  in  petti- 
coats. I  warrant  thou'lt  be  poppy-red,  though 
thou  art  hidden  behind  the  gold  curtains,  just 
to  hear  the  noble  Romeo  vow  me  such  desperate 
lover's  vows." 

"  By  St.  George,  Deb !  we  have  a  Romeo 
who  might  turn  any  maid's  heart  and  head.  He 
is  a  handsome,  admirable  fellow,  Sherwood,  and 
hath  a  way  with  him  most  fascinating.  He  doth 
act  even  at  rehearsals  as  though  'twere  all  most 
deadly  passionate  reality,  and  this  with  only 
me  for  inspiration.  I  oft'  fancy  what  'twould 
be  —  his  love-making  —  an'  he  had  a  proper 
[55] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

Juliet — one  such  as  thou  would'st  make,  for 
instance." 

"  I  will  have  eyes  only  for  thee,  Darby,"  an- 
swered Debora,  softly,  "  but  for  thee,  an',  yes, 
for  Master  Will  Shakespeare,  should  he  be  by." 

"  He  is  often  about  the  theatre,  sweet,  but 
hath  no  part  in  this  new  play.  No  sooner  hath 
he  one  written,  than  another  is  under  his  pen; 
and  I  am  told  that  even  now  he  hath  been  read- 
ing lines  from  a  wonderful  strange  history 
concerning  a  Jew  of  Venice,  to  a  party  of  his 
friends — Ben  Jonson  and  Dick  Burbage,  and 
more  than  likely  Lord  Brooke — who  gather 
nightly  at  '  The  Mermaid,'  where,  thou  dost 
remember,  Master  Shakespeare  usually  stays." 

"  I  forget  nothing  thou  dost  tell  me  of  him," 
said  the  girl,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
"  O  wilt  take  me  with  thee  on  the  morrow, 
Darby?  Wilt  really  take  me? " 

"  On  the  morrow,"  he  answered,  watching 
her  away. 


[56] 


CHAPTER    IV 


IV 


THUS  it  fell  that  each  morning  for  one 
heavenly  week  Debora  Thornbury 
found  herself  safely  hidden  away  in 
what  was  called  by  courtesy  "  The  Royal  Box." 
In  truth  her  Majesty  had  never  honoured  it, 
but  commanded  the  players  to  journey  down  to 
Greenwich  when  it  was  her  whim  to  see  their 
performances.  Now,  in  1597,  the  Queen  had 
grown  too  world-weary  to  care  much  for  such 
pastimes,  and  rarely  had  any  London  entertain- 
ment at  Court,  save  a  concert  by  her  choir  boys 
from  St.  Paul's — for  these  lads  with  their  oft- 
times  beautiful  faces,  and  their  fine  voices,  she 
loved  and  indulged  in  many  ways. 

At  first  Debora  felt  strangely  alone  after 
Darby  left  her  in  the  little  compartment  above 
the  stage  at  Blackfriars.  Lingering  about  it 
was  a  passing  sweet  odour,  for  the  silken  cush- 
ions were  stuffed  with  fragrant  grasses  from 
the  West  Indies,  and  the  hand-railings  and  foot- 
stools were  of  carven  sandalwood.  Mingled 
with  these  heavy  perfumes  was  the  scent  of 
tobacco,  since  the  young  nobles  who  usually 
[59] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

filled  the  box  indulged  much  in  the  new 
weed. 

The  girl  would  lean  back  against  the  seat 
in  this  dim,  richly  coloured  place,  and  give 
her  mind  up  to  a  perfect  enjoyment  of  the 
moment. 

From  her  tiny  aperture  in  the  curtains,  skil- 
fully arranged  by  Darby,  she  could  easily  see 
the  stage — all  but  the  east  wing — and,  further- 
more, had  a  fair  view  of  the  two-story  circular 
building. 

How  gay  it  must  be,  she  thought,  when  filled 
in  gallery  and  pit  with  a  merry  company! 
How  bright  and  glittering  when  all  the  great 
cressets  and  clusters  of  candles  were  alight! 
How  charming  to  feel  free  to  come  and  go  here 
as  one  would,  and  not  have  to  be  conveyed  in 
by  private  doorways  like  a  bale  of  smuggled 
goods ! 

Then  she  would  dream  of  olden  times,  when 
the  sable  friars  went  in  and  out  of  the  old  Do- 
minican friary  that  stood  upon  the  very  place 
where  the  theatre  was  now  built. 

"  'Twas  marvellous  strange,"  she  thought, 
"  that  it  should  be  a  playhouse  that  was  erected 
[60] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

on  this  ground  that  used  to  be  a  place  of 
prayer." 

So  the  time  would  pass  till  the  actors  assem- 
bled. They  were  a  jovial,  swaggering,  happy- 
go-lucky  lot,  and  it  took  all  their  Master-play- 
er's patience  to  bring  them  into  straight  and 
steady  work.  But  when  the  play  once  began 
each  one  followed  his  part  with  keen  enthusiasm, 
for  there  was  no  half-hearted  man  amongst  the 
number. 

Debora  watched  each  actor,  listened  for  each 
word  and  cue  the  prompter  gave  them  with 
an  absorbed  intensity  she  was  scarcely  con- 
scious of. 

She  soon  discovered  that  play-goers  were  not 
greatly  beguiled  through  the  eye,  for  the  stage- 
settings  changed  but  little,  and  the  details  of 
a  scene  were  simplified  by  leaving  them  to  the 
imagination.  Neither  did  the  music  furnished 
by  a  few  sad-looking  musicians  who  appeared 
to  have  been  entrapped  in  a  small  balcony  above 
the  stage  appeal  to  her,  for  it  was  a  thing  the 
least  said  about  the  soonest  mended. 

The  actors  wore  no  especial  dress  or  make- 
up during  these  rehearsals,  save  Darby,  and  he 
[61] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

to  grow  better  accustomed  to  such  garments  as 
befitted  the  maid  of  Capulet,  disported  himself 
throughout  in  a  cumbersome  flowing  gown  of 
white  corduroy  that  at  times  clung  about  him 
as  might  a  winding  sheet,  and  again  dragged 
behind  like  a  melancholy  flag  of  truce.  Yet 
with  the  auburn  love-locks  shading  his  fair  oval 
face,  now  clean  shaven  and  tinted  like  a  girl's, 
and  his  clear-toned  voice,  even  Debora  admitted, 
he  was  not  so  far  amiss  in  the  role. 

What  struck  her  most  from  the  moment  he 
came  upon  the  stage  was  his  wonderful  like- 
ness to  herself. 

"  I'  faith,"  she  half  whispered,  "  did  I  not 
know  that  Deb  Thornbury  were  here — an*  I 
have  to  pinch  my  arm  to  make  that  real — I 
should  have  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  but  that  Deb 
Thornbury  were  there,  a  player  with  the  rest, 
though  I  never  could  make  so  sad  a  tangle  of 
any  gown  however  bad  its  cut — an'  no  woman 
e'er  cut  that  one.  Darby  doth  lose  himself  in 
it  as  if  'twere  a  maze,  and  yet  withal  doth,  so 
far,  the  part  fair  justice." 

When  Don  Sherwood  came  upon  the  boards 
the  girl's  eyes  grew  brilliant  and  dark.  Darby 
[62] 


She  followed  the  tragedy  intensely 


an7  no 


bawollol 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

had  but  spoken  truth  regarding  this  man's 
fascinating  personality.  He  was  a  strong, 
straight-limbed  fellow,  and  his  face  was  such 
as  it  pleased  the  people  to  watch,  though  it  was 
not  of  perfect  cast  nor  strictly  beautiful;  but 
he  was  happy  in  possessing  a  certain  magnet- 
ism which  was  the  one  thing  needful. 

Yet  it  was  not  to  manner  or  stage  presence 
that  Sherwood  owed  his  success,  but  rather  to 
his  voice,  for  there  was  no  other  could  compare 
to  it  in  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Company. 
Truly  the  gods  had  been  good  to  this  player 
— for  first  of  all  their  gifts  is  such  a  golden- 
toned  voice  as  he  had  brought  into  this  world 
of  sorry  discords.  Never  had  Debora  listened 
to  anything  like  it  as  it  thrilled  the  stillness  of 
the  empty  house  with  the  passionate  words  of 
Romeo. 

She  followed  the  tragedy  intensely  from  one 
scene  to  another  till  the  ending  that  stirs  all 
tender  hearts  to  tears. 

The  lines  of  the  different  characters  seemed 

branded  upon  her  brain,  and  she  remembered 

them  without  effort  and  knew  them   quite  by 

heart.     Sometimes  Darby,  struggling  with  the 

[63] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

distressing  complications  of  his  detested  dress, 
would  hesitate  over  some  word  or  break  a  sen- 
tence, thereby  marring  the  perfect  beauty  of  it, 
and  while  Sherwood  would  smile  and  shrug  his 
shoulders  lightly  as  though  as  to  say,  "  Have 
I  not  enough  to  put  up  with,  that  thou  art 
what  thou  art,  but  thou  must  need'st  bungle 
the  words ! "  Then  would  Debora  clench  her 
hands  and  tap  her  little  foot  against  the  soft 
rugs. 

"  Oh !  I  would  I  had  but  the  chance  to  speak 
his  lines,"  she  said  to  herself  at  such  times. 
"  Prithee  'twould  be  in  different  fashion !  'Tis 
not  his  fault,  in  sooth,  for  no  living  man  could 
quite  understand  or  say  the  words  as  they 
should  be  said,  but  none  the  less  it  doth  sorely 
try  my  patience." 

So  the  enchanted  hours  passed  and  none  came 
to  disturb  the  girl,  or  discover  her  till  the  last 
morning,  which  was  Saturday.  The  rehearsal 
had  ended,  and  Debora  was  waiting  for  Darby. 
The  theatre  looked  gray  and  deserted.  At  the 
back  of  the  stage  the  great  velvet  traverses 
through  which  the  actors  made  their  exits  and 
entrances,  hung  in  dark  folds,  sombre  as  the 
[64] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

folds  of  a  pall.  A  chill  struck  to  her  heart, 
for  she  seemed  to  be  the  only  living  thing  in 
the  building,  and  Darby  did  not  come. 

She  grew  at  last  undecided  whether  to  wait 
longer  or  risk  going  across  the  river,  and  so 
home  alone,  when  a  quick  step  came  echoing 
along  the  passage  that  led  to  the  box.  In  a 
moment  a  man  had  gathered  back  the  hangings 
and  entered.  He  started  when  he  saw  the  slight 
figure  standing  in  the  uncertain  light,  then  took 
a  step  towards  her. 

The  girl  did  not  move  but  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  an  expression  of  quick,  glad  recog- 
nition, then  she  leaned  a  little  towards  him  and 
smiled.  "  Romeo ! "  she  exclaimed  softly. 
"  Romeo ! "  and  as  though  compelled  to  it  by 
some  strange  impulse,  followed  his  name  with 
the  question  that  has  so  much  of  pathos, 
"  Wherefore,"  she  said,  "  Wherefore  art  thou 
Romeo?  " 

The  man  laughed  a  little  as  he  let  the  cur- 
tains drop  behind  him. 

"  Why,  an'  I  be  Romeo,"  he  answered  in  that 
rare  voice  of  his,  full  and  sweet  as  a  golden 
bell,  "then  who  art  thou?"  Art  not  Juliet? 
[65] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

Nay,  pardon  me,  mademoiselle,"  his  tone  chang- 
ing, "  I  know  whom  thou  art  beyond  question, 
by  thy  likeness  to  Thornbury.  'Fore  Heaven! 
'tis  a  very  singular  likeness,  and  thou  must  be, 
in  truth,  his  sister.  I  would  ask  your  grace  for 
coming  in  with  such  scant  announcement.  I 
thought  the  box  empty.  The  young  Duke  of 
Nottingham  lost  a  jewelled  pin  here  yestere'en 
— or  fancied  so — and  sent  word  to  me  to  have 
the  place  searched.  Ah!  there  it  is  glittering 
above  you  in  the  tassel  to  the  right." 

"  I  have  seen  naught  but  the  stage,"  she  said, 
"  and  now  await  my  brother.  Peradventure  he 
did  wrong  to  bring  me  here,  but  I  so  desired 
to  see  the  play  that  I  persuaded  and  teased 
him  withal  till  he  could  no  longer  deny  me. 
'Twas  not  over-pleasant  being  hidden  i'  the 
box,  but  'twas  the  only  way  Darby  would  hear 
of.  Moreover,"  with  a  little  proud  gesture,  "  I 
have  the  greater  interest  in  this  new  tragedy 
that  I  be  well  acquainted  with  Master  William 
Shakespeare  himself." 

"  That  is  to  be  fortunate  indeed,"  Sherwood 
answered,  looking  into  her  eyes,  "  and  I  fancy 
thou  could'st  have  but  little  difficulty  in  per- 
[66] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

suading  a  man  to  anything.  I  hold  small  blame 
for  Thornbury." 

Debora  laughed  merrily.  "  'Tis  a  pretty 
speech,"  she  said,  "  an'  of  a  fine  London  fla- 
vour." Then  uneasily,  "  I  would  my  brother 
came ;  'tis  marvellous  unlike  him  to  leave  me  so." 

"  I  will  tell  thee  somewhat,"  said  Sherwood, 
after  a  moment's  thought.  "  A  party  o'  the 
players  went  off  to  '  The  Castle  Inn  ' — 'tis  hard 
by — an'  I  believe  their  intention  was  to  drink 
success  to  the  play.  Possibly  they  will  make 
short  work  and  drink  it  in  one  bumper,  but  I 
cannot  be  sure — they  may  drink  it  in  more." 

"  'Tis  not  like  my  brother  to  tarry  thus," 
the  girl  answered.  "  I  wonder  at  him  greatly." 

"  Trouble  nothing  over  it,"  said  Sherwood ; 
"  indeed,  he  went  against  his  will ;  they  were 
an  uproarious  lot  o'  roisterers,  and  carried  him 
off  willy-nilly,  fairly  by  main  force,  now  I 
think  on't.  Perchance  thou  would'st  rather  I 
left  thee  alone,  mademoiselle?  "  he  ended,  as  by 
afterthought. 

"  'Twould  be  more  seemly,"  she  answered,  the 
colour  rising  in  her  face. 

"  I  do  protest  to  that,"  said  the  man  quickly. 
[67] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  And  /  found  thee  out — here  alone — why, 
marry,  so  might  another." 

"  An'  why  not  another  as  well  ?  "  Debora  re- 
plied, lifting  her  brows ;  "  an'  why  not  another 
full  as  well  as  thee,  good  Sir  Romeo?  There  is 
no  harm  in  a  maid  being  here.  But  I  would 
that  Darby  came,"  she  added. 

"  We  will  give  him  license  of  five  minutes 
longer,"  he  returned.  "  Come  tell  me,  what 
dost  think  o' the  play?" 

"  'Tis  a  very  wonder,"  said  Debora ;  "  more 
beautiful  each  time  I  see  it."  Then  irrelevantly, 
"  Dost  really  fancy  in  me  so  great  a  likeness  to 
my  brother?  " 

"  Thou  art  like  him  truly,  and  yet  no  more 
like  him  than  I  am  like — well,  say  the  apothe- 
cary, though  'tis  not  a  good  instance." 

"  Oh !  the  poor  apothecary ! "  she  cried, 
laughing.  "  Prithee,  hath  he  been  starved  to 
fit  the  part?  Surely  never  before  saw  I  one  so 
altogether  made  of  bones." 

"  Ay !  "  said  Sherwood.  "  He  is  a  very  her- 
ring. I  wot  heaven  forecasted  we  should  need 
such  a  man,  an'  made  him  so." 

"Think'st  thou  that?"  she  said  absently. 
[68] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  O  heart  o'  me !  Why  doth  Darby  tarry. 
Perchance  some  accident  may  have  happened 
him  or  he  hath  fallen  ill !  Dost  think  so  ?  " 

The  player  gave  a  short  laugh,  but  looked 
as  suddenly  grave. 

"  Do  not  vex  thyself  with  such  imaginings, 
sweet  mistress  Thornbury.  He  hath  not  come 
to  grief,  I  give  thee  my  word  for  it.  There  is 
no  youth  that  know'th  London  better  than  that 
same  brother  o'  thine,  an'  I  do  not  fear  that  he 
is  ill." 

"  Why,  then,  I  will  not  wait  here  longer," 
she  returned,  starting.  "  I  can  take  care  o' 
myself  an'  it  be  London  ten  times  over.  'Tis 
a  simple  matter  to  cross  in  the  ferry  to  South- 
wark  on  the  one  we  so  oft  have  taken;  the 
ferry-man  knoweth  me  already,  an'  I  fear  noth- 
ing. Moreover,  many  maids  go  to  and  fro 
alone." 

"  Thou  shalt  not,"  he  said.  "  Wait  till  I  see 
if  the  coast  be  clear.  By  the  Saints!  'twill  do 
Thornbury  no  harm  to  find  thee  gone.  He  doth 
need  a  lesson,"  ended  the  man  in  a  lower  tone, 
striding  down  the  narrow  passage-way  that  led 
to  the  green-room. 

[69] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  Come,"  he  said,  returning  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, "  we  have  the  place  to  ourselves,  and 
there  is  not  a  soul  between  Blackfriars  an'  the 
river  house,  I  believe,  save  an  old  stage  car- 
penter, a  fellow  short  o'  wit,  but  so  over-fond 
of  the  theatre  he  scarce  ever  leaves  it.  Come !  " 

As  the  girl  stepped  eagerly  forward  to  join 
him,  Sherwood  entered  the  box  again. 

"  Nay,"  on  second  thought — "  wait.  Before 
we  go,  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  thy  name." 

"'Tis  Debora,"  she  said  softly;  "just  Deb- 
ora." 

"  Ah !  "  he  answered,  in  a  tone  she  had  heard 
him  use  in  the  play — passing  tender  and  pas- 
sionate. "  Well,  it  suiteth  me  not ;  the  rest  may 
call  thee  Debora,  an'  they  will — but  I,  I  have 
a  fancy  to  think  of  thee  by  another  title,  one 
sweeter  a  thousand-fold !  "  So  leaning  towards 
her  and  looking  into  her  face  with  compelling 
eyes  that  brought  hers  up  to  them,  "  Dost  not 
see,  an*  my  name  be  Romeo,  thine  must 

"  Nay  then,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  not  hear,  I 
will  not  hear;  let  me  pass,  I  pray  thee." 

"  Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  returned  the  player 
[70] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

with  grave,  quick  courtesy,  and  holding  back 
the  curtain,  "  I  would  not  risk  thy  displeasure." 
They  went  out  together  down  the  little 
twisted  hall  into  the  green-room  where  the 
dried  rushes  that  strewed  the  floor  crackled  be- 
neath their  feet;  through  the  empty  tiring 
rooms,  past  the  old  half-mad  stage  carpenter, 
who  smiled  and  nodded  at  them,  and  so  by  the 
hidden  door  out  into  the  pale  early  spring 
sunshine.  Then  down  the  steep  stairs  to  Black- 
friars  Landing  where  the  ferryman  took  them 
over  the  river.  They  did  not  say  a  word  to 
each  other,  and  the  girl  watched  with  unfath- 
omable eyes  the  little  curling  line  of  flashing 
water  the  boat  left  behind,  though  it  may  be 
she  did  not  see  it.  As  for  Sherwood,  he  watched 
only  her  face  with  the  crisp  rings  of  gold-red 
hair  blown  about  it  from  out  the  border  of  her 
fur-edged  hood.  He  had  forgotten  altogether 
a  promise  given  to  dine  with  some  good  fellows 
at  Dick  Tarleton's  ordinary,  and  only  knew 
that  there  was  a  velvety  sea-scented  wind  blow- 
ing up  the  river  wild  and  free;  that  the  sky 
was  of  such  a  wondrous  blue  as  he  had  never 
seen  before;  that  across  from  him  in  the  old 
[71] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

weather-worn  ferry  was  a  maid  whose  face  was 
the  one  thing  worth  looking  at  in  all  the 
world. 

When  the  boat  bumped  against  the  slippery 
landing,  the  player  sprang  ashore  and  gave 
Debora  his  hand  that  she  might  not  miss  the 
step.  There  was  a  little  amused  smile  in  his 
eyes  at  her  long  silence,  but  he  would  not  help 
her  break  it. 

Together  they  went  up  and  through  the  park 
where  buds  on  tree  and  bush  were  showing 
creamy  white  through  the  brown,  and  underfoot 
the  grass  hinted  of  coming  green.  Then  along 
the  Southwark  common  past  the  theatres.  Upon 
all  the  road  Sherwood  was  watchful  lest  they 
should  run  across  some  of  his  company. 

To  be  seen  alone  and  at  mid-day  with  a  new 
beauty  was  to  court  endless  questions  and  much 
bantering. 

For  some  reason  Thornbury  had  been  silent 
regarding  his  sister,  and  the  man  felt  no  more 
willing  to  publish  his  chance  meeting  with 
Debora. 

He  glanced  often  at  her  as  though  eager  for 
some  word  or  look,  but  she  gave  him  neither. 
[72] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

Her  lips  were  pressed  firmly  together,  for  she 
was  struggling  with  many  feelings,  one  of 
which  was  anger  against  Darby.  So  she  held 
her  lovely  head  high  and  went  along  with  fever- 
ish haste. 

When  they  came  to  the  house,  which  was 
home  now  out  of  all  the  others  in  London,  she 
gave  a  sweeping  glance  at  the  high  windows 
lest  at  one  might  be  discovered  the  round,  good- 
tempered,  yet  curious  face  of  Dame  Blossom. 
But  the  tiny  panes  winked  down  quite  blankly 
and  her  return  seemed  to  be  unnoticed. 

Running  up  the  steps  she  lifted  her  hand  to 
the  quaint  knocker  of  the  door,  turned,  and 
looked  down  at  the  man  standing  on  the 
walk. 

"  I  give  thee  many  thanks,  Sir  Romeo,"  said 
the  girl ;  "  thou  hast  in  verity  been  a  most 
chivalrous  knight  to  a  maiden  in  distress.  I 
give  thee  thanks,  an'  if  thou  art  ever  minded 
to  travel  to  Shottery  my  father  will  be  glad  to 
have  thee  stop  at  One  Tree  Inn."  Then  she 
raised  the  knocker,  a  rap  of  which  would  bring 
the  bustling  Dame. 

Quickly  the  man  sprang  up  the  steps  and  laid 
[73] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

his  hand  beneath  it,  so  that,  though  it   fell, 
there  should  be  no  sound. 

"  Nay,  wait,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  intense  voice. 
"  London  is  wide  and  the  times  are  busy ;  there- 
fore I  have  no  will  to  leave  it  to  chance  when  I 
shall  see  thee  again.  Fate  has  been  marvellous 
kind  to-day,  but  'tis  not  always  so  with  fate, 
as  peradventure  thou  hast  some  time  discov- 
ered." 

"  Ay !  "  she  answered,  gently,  "  Ay !  Sir  Ro- 
meo. Thou  art  right,  fate  is  not  always  kind. 
Yet  'tis  best  to  leave  most  things  to  its  disposal 
— at  least  so  it  doth  seem  to  me." 

"  Egad !  "  said  Sherwood,  with  a  short  laugh, 
"  'tis  a  way  that  may  serve  well  enow  for  maids 
but  not  for  men.  Tell  me,  when  may  I  see 
thee?  To-night?" 

"  A  thousand  times  no !  "  Debora  cried,  quick- 
ly. "  To-night,"  with  a  little  nod  of  her  head, 
"  to-night  I  have  somewhat  to  settle  with 
Darby." 

"  He  hath  my  sympathy,"  said  Sherwood. 
"  Then  on  the  morrow  ? " 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  know  not.     That  is  the  Sab- 
bath; players  be  but  for  week-days." 
[74] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Then  Monday  ?  I  beseech  thee,  make  it  no 
later  than  Monday,  and  thou  dost  wish  to  keep 
me  in  fairly  reasonable  mind." 

"  Well,  Monday,  an'  it  please  the  fate  thou 
has  maligned,"  she  answered,  smiling.  Notic- 
ing that  the  firm,  brown  hand  was  withdrawn 
a  few  inches  from  the  place  it  had  held  on  the 
panelling  of  the  door,  the  girl  gave  a  mischiev- 
ous little  smile  and  let  the  knocker  fall.  It 
made  a  loud  echoing  through  the  empty  hall, 
and  the  player  raised  his  laced  black-velvet  cap, 
gave  Debora  so  low  a  bow  that  the  silver-gray 
plume  in  it  swept  the  ground,  and,  before  the 
heavy-footed  Mistress  Blossom  made  her  ap- 
pearance, was  on  his  way  swiftly  towards  Lon- 
don Bridge. 

Debora  went  up  the  narrow  stairs  with  eyes 
ashine,  and  a  smile  curving  her  lips.  For  the 
moment  Darby  was  forgotten.  When  she  closed 
the  chamber  door  she  remembered. 

It  was  past  high  noon,  and  Dame  Blossom 
had  been  waiting  in  impatience  since  eleven  to 
serve  dinner.  Yet  the  girl  would  not  now  dine 
alone,  but  stood  by  the  gabled  window  which 
looked  down  on  the  road,  watching,  watching, 
[75] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

and  thinking,  till  it  almost  seemed  that  another 
morning  had  passed. 

Along  Southwark  thoroughfare  through  the 
day  went  people  from  all  classes,  groups  of 
richly-dressed  gentlemen,  beruffled  and  befeath- 
ered;  their  laces  and  their  hair  perfuming  the 
wind.  Officers  of  the  Queen  booted  and  spurred ; 
sober  Puritans,  long-jowled  and  over-sallow,  liv- 
ing protests  against  frivolity  and  light-hearted- 
ness.  Portly  aldermen,  jealous  of  their  dignity. 
Swarthy  foreigners  with  silver  rings  swinging 
in  their  ears.  Sun-browned  sailors.  Tankard- 
bearers  carrying  along  with  their  supply  of 
fresh  drinking  water  the  cream  of  the  hour's 
gossip.  Keepers  of  the  watch  with  lanterns 
trimmed  for  the  night's  burning  adangle  from 
oaken  poles  braced  across  their  shoulders.  Lit- 
tle maidens  whose  long  gowns  cut  after  the 
fashion  of  their  mothers,  fretted  their  danc- 
ing feet.  Ruddy-hued  little  lads,  turning 
Catherine  wheels  for  the  very  joy  of  being 
alive,  and  because  the  winter  time  was  over 
and  the  wine  of  spring  had  gone  to  the  young 
heads. 

Debora  stood  and  watched  the  passing  of  the 
[76] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

people  till  she  wearied  of  them,  and  her  ears 
ached  with  sounds  of  the  street. 

Something  had  gone  away  from  the  girl, 
some  carelessness,  some  content  of  the  heart, 
and  in  its  place  had  come  a  restlessness,  as  deep, 
as  impossible  to  quiet,  as  the  restlessness  of  the 
sea. 

After  a  time  Mistress  Blossom  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  coaxed  her  to  go  below. 

"  There  is  no  sight  o'  the  young  Master, 
Mistress  Debora.  Marry,  but  he  be  over  late, 
an'  the  jugged  hare  I  made  ready  for  his  pleas- 
uring is  fair  wasted.  Dost  think  he'll  return 
here  to  dine  or  hast  gone  to  the  Tabard?  " 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  Debora,  shortly,  fol- 
lowing the  woman  down  stairs.  "  He  gave  me 
no  hint  of  his  intentions,  good  Mistress  Blos- 
som." 

"Ods  fish!"  returned  the  other,  "but  that 
be  not  mannerly.  Still  thou  need'st  not  spoil 
a  sweet  appetite  by  tarrying  for  him.  Take 
thee  a  taste  o?  the  cowslip  cordial,  an'  a  bit  o' 
devilled  ham.  'Tis  a  toothsome  dish,  an'  piping 
hot." 

"  I  give  thee  thanks,"  said  Debora,  absently. 
[77] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

Some  question  turned  itself  over  in  her  mind 
and  gave  her  no  peace.  Looking  up  at  the 
busy  Dame  she  spoke  in  a  sudden  impulsive 
fashion. 

"  Hath  my  brother — hath  my  brother  been 
oft  so  late?  Hath  he  always  kept  such  uncer- 
tain hours  by  night — and  day  also — I  mean  ?  " 
she  ended  falteringly. 

"  Why,  sometimes.  Now  and  again  as 
'twere — but  not  often.  There  be  gay  young 
gentlemen  about  London-town,  and  Master  Dar- 
by hath  with  him  a  ready  wit  an'  a  charm  o' 
manner  that  maketh  him  rare  good  company. 
I  doubt  his  friends  be  not  overwilling  to  let  him 
away  home  early,"  said  the  woman  in  troubled 
tones. 

"  Hath he  ever  come  in  not — not — quite 

himself,  Mistress  Blossom?  "Tis  but  a  passing 
fancy  an'  I  hate  to  question  thee,  yet  I  must 
know,"  said  the  girl,  her  face  whitening. 

"  Why  then,  nothing  to  speak  of,"  Mistress 
Blossom  replied,  bustling  about  the  table,  with 
eyes  averted.  "  See  then,  Miss  Debora,  take 
some  o'  the  Devonshire  cream  an'  one  o'  the 
little  B  anbury  cakes  with  it — there  be  caraways 
[78] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

through  them.  No?  Marry,  where  be  thy  ap- 
petite? Thou  hast  no  fancy  for  aught.  Try 
a  taste  of  the  conserved  cherries,  they  be  white 
hearts  from  a  Shottery  orchard.  Trouble  not 
thy  pretty  self.  Men  be  all  alike,  sweet,  an'  not 
worth  a  salt  tear.  Even  Blossom  cometh  home 
now  an'  again  in  a  manner  not  to  be  spoken  of ! 
Ods  pitikins !  I  be  thankful  to  have  him  make 
the  house  in  any  form,  an'  not  fall  i'  the  clutch 
o'  the  watch  \  They  be  right  glad  of  the  chance 
to  clap  a  man  i'  the  stocks  where  he  can  make 
a  finish  o'  the  day  as  a  target  for  all  the  stale 
jests  an'  unsavoury  missiles  of  every  scurvy  ras- 
cal o'  the  streets.  But,  Heaven  be  praised! — 
'tis  not  often  Blossom  breaks  out — just  once  in 
a  blue  moon — after  a  bit  of  rare  good  or  bad 
luck." 

Debora  took  no  heed  but  stared  ahead  with 
wide,  unhappy  eyes.  The  old  blue  plates  on 
the  table,  the  pewter  jugs  and  platters  grew 
strangely  indistinct.  Then  'twas  true !  So  had 
she  fancied  it  might  be.  He  had  been  drinking 
— drinking.  Carousing  with  the  fast,  unman- 
nerly youths  who  haunted  the  club-houses  and 
inns.  Dicing,  without  doubt,  and  gambling  at 
[79] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

cards  also  peradventure,  when  she  thought  he 
was  passing  the  time  in  good  fellowship  with 
the  worthy  players  from  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
Company. 

"  He  hath  never  come  home  so  by  day,  surely, 
good  Mistress  Blossom?  Not  by  day?"  she 
asked  desperately. 

"  Well — truly — not  many  times,  dearie.  But 
hark'e.  Master  Darby  is  one  who  cannot  touch 
a  glass  o'  any  liquor  but  it  flies  straightway  to 
his  brains;  oft  hath  he  told  me  so,  ay!  often 
and  over  often ;  *  I  am  not  to  blame  for  this, 
Blossom,'  hath  he  said  to  my  goodman  when  he 
worked  over  him — cold  water  and  rubbing,  Mis- 
tress Debora — no  more,  no  less.  '  Nay,  verily 
— 'tis  just  my  luck,  one  draught  an'  I  be  un- 
der the  table,  leaving  the  other  men  bolt  up- 
right till  they've  swallowed  full  three  bottles 
apiece ! ' 

Debora  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
rocked  a  little  back  an'  forth.  "  'Tis  worse 
than  I  thought !  "  she  cried,  looking  up  drawn 
and  white.  "  Oh !  I  have  a  fear  that  'tis  worse 
— far,  far  worse.  I  have  little  doubt  half  his 
money  comes  from  play  an'  betting,  ay!  an'  at 
[80] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

stakes  on  the  bear-baiting,  an' — an' — anything 
else  o'  wickedness  there  be  left  in  London — 
while  we  at  home  have  thought  'twas  earned 
honestly."  As  she  spoke  a  heavy  rapping 
sounded  down  the  hall,  loud,  uneven,  yet  pro- 
longed. 

Mistress  Blossom  went  to  answer  it  quickly, 
and  Debora  followed,  her  limbs  trembling  and 
all  strength  seeming  to  slip  away  from  her. 
Lifting  the  latch  the  woman  flung  the  outer 
door  open  and  Darby  Thornbury  lurched  in, 
falling  clumsily  against  his  sister,  who  straight- 
ened her  slight  figure  and  hardly  wavered  with 
the  shock,  for  her  strength  had  come  swiftly 
back  with  the  sight  of  him. 

The  man  who  lay  in  the  hall  in  such  a  miser- 
able heap,  had  scarce  any  reminder  in  him  of 
Darby  Thornbury,  the  dainty  young  gallant 
whose  laces  were  always  the  freshest,  and  whose 
ruffs  and  doublets  never  bore  a  mark  of  wear. 
Now  his  long  cordovan  boots  were  mud-stained 
and  crumpled  about  the  ankles.  His  broidered 
cuffs  and  collar  were  wrenched  out  of  all  shape. 
But  worse  and  far  more  terrible  was  his  face, 
for  its  beauty  was  gone  as  though  a  blight  had 
[81] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

passed  across  it.  He  was  flushed  a  purplish 
red,  and  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  while  above 
one  was  a  bruised  swelling  that  fairly  closed 
the  lid.  He  tried  to  get  on  his  feet,  and  in  a 
manner  succeeded. 

"  By  St.  George,  Deb ! "  he  exclaimed  in 
wrath,  "  I  swear  thou  'r  a  fine  sister  to  take  f 
outing.  I  was  a  double-dyed  fool  e'er  to  bring 
thee  t'  London.  Why  couldn't  y'  wait  f  fel- 
low? When  I  go  f  y' — y'  not  there." 

Then  he  smiled  in  maudlin  fashion  and  al- 
tered his  tone.  "  Egad !  I'm  proud  o'  thee, 
Deb,  thou  art  a  very  beauty.  All  the  bloods  i* 
town  ar'  mad  to  meet  thee — th'  give  me  no 
peace." 

"  Oh !  Mistress  Blossom,"  cried  Debora,  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  "  can  we  not  take  him  above 
stairs  and  so  to  bed?  Dear,  dear  Mistress  Blos- 
som, silence  him,  I  pray  thee,  or  my  heart  will 
break." 

"  Be  thee  quiet,  Master  Darby,  lad,"  said  the 
woman,  persuasively.  "  Wait,  then,  an'  talk  no 
more.  I'll  fetch  Blossom;  he'll  fix  thee  into 
proper  shape,  I  warrant.  'Tis  more  thy  mis- 
fortune than  thy  fault.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  thou 
[82] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

be  sore  upset — but  why  did'st  not  steer  clear  o* 
temptation  ?  " 

"  Temp-ation,  Odso !  'tis  a  marvellous  good 
word,"  put  in  Thornbury.  "  Any  man'd  walk 
a  chalk — line — if  he  could  steer  clear  o'  temp- 
tation." So,  in  a  state  of  verbose  contrition, 
was  he  borne  away  to  his  chamber  by  the  sym- 
pathetic Blossom,  who  had  a  fellow-feeling  for 
the  lad  that  made  him  wondrous  kind. 


[83] 


CHAPTER    V 


ALL  Saturday  night  Debora  waited  by 
her    window — the    one    that    looked 
across  the  commonland  to  the  Thames. 
The    girl    could    not    face    what    might    be 
ahead.      Darby — her   Darby — her   father's   de- 
light.     Their  handsome   boy   come  to   such   a 
pass.     "  'Twas  nothing  more  than  being  a  com- 
mon  drunkard.      One   whom   the   watch   might 
have  arrested  in  the  Queen's  name  for  breaking 
the  peace,"  she  said  to  herself.     "  Oh !  the  hor- 
ror of  it,  the  shame !  "    In  the  dark  of  her  room 
her  face  burned. 

Never  had  such  a  fear  come  to  her  for  Darby 
till  to-day.  When  was  it?  Who  raised  the 
doubt  of  him  in  her  mind?  Yes,  she  remem- 
bered; 'twas  a  look — a  strange  look — a  half 
smile,  satirical,  pitying,  that  passed  over  the 
player  Sherwood's  face  when  he  spoke  of  Dar- 
by's being  persuaded  to  drink  with  the  others. 
In  a  flash  at  that  moment  the  fear  had  come, 
though  she  would  not  give  it  room  then.  It 
was  a  dangerous  life,  this  life  in  the  city,  and 
she  knew  now  what  that  expression  in  the  actor's 
[87] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

eyes  had  meant;  realised  now  the  full  import 
of  it.  So.  It  was  all  summed  up  in  what  she 
had  witnessed  to-day.  But  if  they  knew — if 
Master  Shakespeare  and  James  Burbage  knew 
— these  responsible  men  of  the  Company — how 
did  they  come  to  trust  Darby  with  such  parts 
as  he  had  long  played.  What  reliance  could 
be  placed  upon  him? 

"  Nay,  then,  'twas  a  thing  not  known  save 
by  the  few.  He  had  not  yet  become  common 
gossip.  Oh!  he  must  be  saved  from  himself — 
he  must  be  saved  from  himself,"  she  said,  wildly, 
and  then  fell  to  crying.  Resting  her  face, 
blanched  and  tear-washed,  on  the  window  ledge, 
she  gazed  across  the  peaceful  openland  that  was 
silvered  by  the  late  moon.  Truly  such  a  land- 
scape might  one  see  in  a  dream.  Away  yonder 
over  the  river  was  the  city,  its  minarets  and 
domes  pointing  to  the  purple,  shadowless  sky, 
where  a  few  scattered  stars  made  golden  twin- 
kling. "  In  London,"  she  had  said  to  her 
father,  "  one  could  hear  the  world's  heart  beat." 
It  seemed  to  come  to  her — that  sound — far  off 
— muffled  —  mysterious  —  on  the  wings  of  the 
night  wind.  Away  in  Stratford  it  would  be 
[88] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

dark  and  quiet  now,  save  where  the  Avon  dap- 
pled with  moonlight  hurried  high  between  its 
banks  on  its  way  to  the  sea — and  it  would  be 
dark  and  quiet  in  Shottery.  The  lights  all  out 
at  One  Tree  Inn,  all  but  the  great  stable  lan- 
tern, that  swayed  to  and  fro  till  morning,  as  a 
beacon  for  belated  travellers.  How  long — how 
very,  very  long  ago  it  seemed  since  she  had 
unhooked  it  and  gone  off  down  the  snowy  road 
to  meet  the  coach.  Ah!  yes,  Nicholas  Berwick 
had  caught  up  with  her,  and  they  came  home 
together.  Nicholas  Berwick!  He  was  a  rarely 
good  friend,  Nick  Berwick,  and  'twas  sweet  and 
peaceful  away  there  in  Shottery.  She  had  not 
known  this  pain  in  her  heart  for  Darby  when 
she  was  at  home,  no,  nor  this  restless  craving 
for  the  morrow,  this  unhappy  waiting  that  had 
stolen  all  joy  away.  Nay  then,  'twas  not  so. 
There  in  the  little  room  a  gladness  came  over 
the  girl  such  as  had  never  touched  her  short, 
happy  life  before.  A  long,  fluttering  sigh 
crossed  her  lips,  and  they  smiled.  The  troubled 
thoughts  for  Darby  drifted  away,  and  a  voice 
came  to  her  passing  in  sweetness  all  voices  that 
ever  she  had  heard  or  dreamt  of. 
[89] 


A     MAID     OF     MANY     MOODS 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  it  said.  "  Nay,  I  will  not 
leave  it  to  Fate."  And  again  with  steady  in- 
sistence— "  Then  Monday  ?  "  The  words  sung 
themselves  over  and  over  till  her  white  eyelids 
drooped  and  she  slept.  And  the  gray  dawn 
came  creeping  up  the  world,  while  in  the  eastern 
sky  it  was  as  though  an  angel  of  God  had 
plucked  a  red  rose  of  heaven  and  scattered  its 
leaves  abroad. 


[90] 


CHAPTER     VI 


VI 


WHEN  Debora  awoke,  the  sunlight 
was  flooding  the  chilly  room,  and 
on  the  frosty  air  sounded  a  chiming 
of  church  bells.  A  confusion  of  thoughts 
stormed  her  mind  as  she  sprang  up  and  found 
herself  dressed  and  by  the  window.  Her  eyes 
ached  as  eyes  will  that  have  wept  overnight, 
and  her  heart  was  heavy.  Still  it  was  not  her 
way  to  think  long;  so  she  bathed  in  fair  water 
till  her  face  got  back  its  shell-pink  tints.  She 
put  on  the  white  taffeta  kirtle  and  farthingale 
that  was  always  kept  for  Sunday,  and  fastened 
a  fluted  ruff  about  her  throat.  When  all  was 
finished,  her  hair  coiled  freshly  and  puffed  at 
the  sides  as  Darby  would  have  it  dressed  to  fol- 
low the  new  fashion ;  when  her  shoes,  with  their 
great  silver  buckles  and  red  heels,  were  laced 
and  tied,  and  when  the  frills  at  her  wrist  were 
settled,  she  looked  in  the  mirror  and  felt  better. 
It  was  not  possible  to  view  such  a  vision,  know- 
ing that  it  was  one's  self,  without  taking  com- 
fort. 

"  Things   be   past  their   worst   surely,"    she 
[93] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

said.  "  An'  I  have  no  heart  in  me  this  morn- 
ing to  give  Darby  a  harsh  word.  Marry !  men 
take  not  kindly  to  upbraiding,  and  hate  a 
shrew  at  best  o'  times.  So  will  I  talk  to  him  in 
sweeter  fashion,  but  in  a  tone  that  will  be 
harder  to  endure  than  any  scolding." 

She  went  down  the  hall  and  stopped  at  her 
brother's  door.  No  faintest  sound  came  from 
the  room,  so  she  entered  and  looked  about.  On 
the  huge  four-post  bed,  from  which  the  fu- 
nereal-looking curtains  were  drawn  back,  lay 
Darby,  in  a  slumber  deep  and  unrefreshing. 
Now  and  again  a  heavy  sigh  broke  from  his 
lips.  His  bright  locks  were  tossed  and  ruffled 
about  his  face,  and  that  was  dead  white,  save 
for  the  violet  rings  beneath  the  eyes  and  the 
unabated  swelling  on  his  forehead. 

"  He  is  a  doleful  sight,"  said  Debora,  gaz- 
ing down  at  him,  her  spirits  sinking,  "  a  woful, 
doleful  sight!  Ods  pitikins!  'tis  worse  than  I 
thought.  What  a  pass  't  has  come  to  that  this 
should  be  Darby  Thornbury.  Heart  o'  me ! " 
a  flickering  sarcastic  little  smile  going  over  her 
face,  "  Heart  o'  me,  but  here  be  a  pretty 
Juliet ! "  Then  she  grew  grave. 
[94] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  Juliet ! "  verily  it  would  not  be  possible ! 
That  part  was  out  of  the  question  for  Darby, 
at  least  on  the  morrow.  The  bruise  on  his 
brow  settled  it,  for  the  eye  beneath  was  fairly 
closed. 

Alack!  alack!  she  thought,  how  ever  would 
things  fall  out  at  Blackfriars?  What  of  the 
new  play  that  had  already  been  put  off  some 
months  and  had  cost  the  Company  heavily  in 
new  dresses,  new  scenery,  even  new  actors? 
Oh!  was  ever  such  a  coil?  'Twould  be  the  lad's 
undoing  upon  the  London  stage.  No  Master- 
player  would  e'er  trust  him  with  part  or  place 
again. 

Debora  stood  by  the  bed  foot,  still  and  sad, 
a  thousand  wild  thoughts  and  questions  tan- 
gling themselves  in  her  brain.  Should  she  away 
to  Master  Shakespeare,  who  had  but  just  re- 
turned to  London  for  the  opening  day?  He 
was  at  the  Mermaid  Inn,  and  peradventure 
'twas  best  to  tell  him  all.  She  grew  faint  at 
the  thought.  Had  not  Judith  told  her  what  a 
very  fever  of  unrest  possessed  her  father  before 
one  of  these  new  plays  was  shown!  Debora 
fancied  she  could  see  his  sensitive  face,  with  the 
[95] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

eyes  so  wise  and  kindly,  change  and  grow  cold 
and  forbidding  as  the  tale  was  unfolded. 

"  Then  what  is  left  to  do?  "  she  said,  des- 
perately. "  What  is  left  to  do  ?  The  play 
must  be  saved,  Darby  must  be  saved,  his  repu- 
tation, his  standing  among  the  players  cannot 
be  lost  thus."  Oh!  for  some  one  to  turn  to — 
to  advise.  Oh!  for  Nick  Berwick  and  his  fair 
cool  judgment.  Should  she  report  at  the  the- 
atre that  her  brother  was  ill?  No,  for  he  had 
been  seen  with  a  merry  party  drinking  at  the 
Castle  Tavern  on  Saturday.  If  this  outbreak 
could  be  tided  over  'twould  be  his  last,  she 
thought,  passionately,  her  woman's  faith  com- 
ing to  the  rescue.  Some  way  she  must  find  to 
save  him. 

Slowly  an  idea  took  possession  of  the  girl 
and  it  faded  the  colour  from  her  cheeks,  and 
set  a  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Debora  Thornbury !  Ay !  there  was  one 
could  play  the  part  of  Juliet."  The  very  life 
seemed  to  go  out  of  her  at  the  thought,  and 
she  slipped  down  to  the  floor  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  coverlet.  Slowly  the  cold  room,  the 
great  four-poster,  the  uneasy  sleeper  all  faded 
[96] 


A     M  A  I  D     OF    MANY    MOODS 

away,  and  she  was  alone  upon  a  high  balcony 
in  the  stillness  of  a  moonlit  garden.  The  tree 
tops  were  silver-frosted  by  the  light,  and  the 
night  was  sweet  with  a  perfume  from  the  roses 
below.  She  was  not  Debora  Thornbury,  but 
Juliet,  the  little  daughter  of  the  Capulets.  The 
name  of  her  lover  was  on  her  lips  and  a  strange 
happiness  filled  her  soul. 

Suddenly  rising  she  went  to  a  heavy  press 
that  stood  against  the  wall,  swung  back  the 
door,  and  sought  out  a  suit  of  her  brother's. 
It  was  of  Kendal  green  cloth,  faced  about  the 
doublet  with  tan-coloured  leather.  The  long, 
soft  boots  were  of  the  same,  and  the  wide- 
brimmed  hat  bore  a  cluster  of  white  plumes  and 
a  buckle  of  brilliants,  while  a  small  lace  hand- 
kerchief was  tucked  into  the  band,  after  a  fash- 
ion followed  by  gentlemen  of  the  court.  Open- 
ing the  door  beneath  the  press  the  girl  selected 
cuffs  and  collar  wrought  in  pointed  lace. 

"  In  very  truth,"  she  said,  with  a  little  bitter 
smile.  "  Darby  Thornbury  hath  a  pretty  taste, 
an'  must  have  coined  many  rose-nobles  in  Lon- 
don— or  won  them.  He  hath  certainly  spent 
them,  for  never  saw  I  such  store  o'  finery !  Here 
[97] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

be  two  velvet  tabards  slashed  and  puffed  with 
satin ;  and  a  short  cloak  o'  russet  silk  laid  upon 
with  Flemish  lace  fit  for  a  prince !  'Truth  what 
with  his  clocked  hose,  an'  scented  gloves  with 
stitchery  o'  silver  thread  on  the  backs  methinks 
he  hath  turned  to  a  very  dandy." 

Gathering  the  garments  she  desired  together 
across  her  arm,  she  went  again  to  the  bed,  and 
looked  down,  her  eyes  growing  tender.  "  I  fear 
me  'tis  an  unmaidenly  thing  to  even  dream  o' 
doing,  but  if  'tis  done,  'tis  done  for  thee,  dear 
heart,  albeit  without  thy  consent  or  Dad's. 
There  will  be  scant  risk  o'  discovery — we  be  too 
much  alike.  People  have  wearied  us  both  prat- 
ing of  the  likeness.  Now  'twill  serve;  just  two 
or  three  nights'  masquerade  for  me  an'  thou 
wilt  be  thyself  again."  Stooping,  she  kissed 
the  bruised  face  and  went  away. 

In  her  own  room  Debora  made  quick  work 
of  changing  her  dress.  It  was  an  awkward 
business,  for  the  doublet  and  green  tabard 
seemed  fairly  possessed  to  go  contrariwise;  the 
hose  were  unmanageable,  and  the  cordovan  long 
boots  needed  stuffing  at  the  toes.  Here  and 
there  upon  the  suit  was  broidered  the  Lord 
[98] 


I  liked  thee  as'a  girl,  Deb,  but  I  love  thee 
as  a  lad" 


ose, 


r  art);  :gain  to 

throwing  tender.    "  I  fear 
Ircam  o* 


ve;  just 
.Sghts'   masquerade   for 

room  Detx  quick  work 

••iais   an   awk 

'     tabard 
go  cont 
-  .ie,  and  the  c<  !ong 

stuffing   at  the   toes.      Here 
uiw;  uit    was    bro  i^ord 

[8 

3vol  I  )ud  .daQ  fhis  B'3 

"bfil  fi  8B 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

Chamberlain's  coat  of  arms  in  gold  thread,  and 
when  all  was  finished  Deb  looked  at  herself  and 
felt  she  was  a  gorgeous  and  satisfying  sight. 
"  Marry !  but  men  be  fond  o'  fine  feathers,"  she 
thought,  studying  her  reflection. 

Then,  letting  down  the  coils  of  auburn  hair, 
she  drew  the  glittering  strands  through  her  fin- 
gers. "  I  would  it  might  just  be  tucked  up — 
it  pleasures  one  little  to  cut  it  off.  Beshrew 
me!  If  I  so  resemble  Darby  with  such  a  cloud 
o'  hair  about  me,  what  will  I  be  like  when  'tis 
trimmed  to  match  his  ?  "  Taking  the  shears  she 
deliberately  severed  it  to  the  very  length  of  her 
brother's.  The  love-locks  curled  around  her 
oval  face  in  the  self-same  charming  way. 

"  My  heart !  'tis  all  most  vastly  becoming," 
she  exclaimed,  fastening  the  pointed  collar.  "  I 
liked  thee  as  a  girl,  Deb,  but  I  love  thee,  nay, 
I  dote  on  thee  as  a  lad!  Now  must  I  stride  an' 
speak  in  mannish  fashion  ('tis  well  there  go'th 
a  long  cloak  with  the  suit,  for  on  that  I  rely 
to  hearten  my  courage) ;  also  I  bethink  me 
'twould  be  wise  to  use  some  strong  flavoursome 
words  to  garnish  my  plain  speech.  By  Saint 
George !  now,  or  Gad  Zooks !  Heart's  mercy ! 
[99] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

stay'th  the  hat  so  ?  or  so  ?  Alack !  my  courage 
seem'th  to  ooze  from  my  boot-heels.  Steady, 
true  heart,  steady!  Nay  then,  I  cannot  do  it. 
I  will  not  do  it — it  look'th  a  very  horror  to 
me.  Oh!  my  poor,  pretty  hair;  my  poor, 
pretty  hair ! " 

On  a  sudden  the  girl  was  down  on  the  floor, 
and  the  long  locks  were  caught  together  and 
passionately  held  against  her  lips.  But  it  was 
only  for  a  moment.  When  the  storm  was  over 
she  rose  and  dashed  the  mist  of  it  from  her 
eyes. 

"  What  must  be,  must  be !  I  cannot  think 
on  any  other  plan.  I  would  there  were  an  un- 
derstudy, but  there  be  none.  So  must  I  take 
the  part  for  Darby — and  for  Master  William 
Shakespeare." 

So  saying,  Debora  went  below  to  the  room 
where  the  table  was  laid  for  breakfast,  walking 
along  the  hall  with  a  firm  step,  for  her  mind 
was  made  up  and  she  was  never  one  to  do  things 
by  halves. 

Taking  her  brother's  place  she  knocked  brisk- 
ly on  the  little  gong  and  waited.  Master  Blos- 
som started  to  answer  the  summons  in  a  slow- 
[100] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

footed,  ponderous  way  peculiar  to  him,  yawn- 
ing audibly  at  intervals  upon  the  way. 

The  Sabbath  morn  was  one  whereon  good 
folk  should  sleep  long,  and  not  look  to  be  waited 
on  early,  according  to  him.  Dame  Blossom  her- 
self was  but  just  astir,  and  lodgers  were  at  best 
but  an  inconsiderate  lot.  Cogitating  on  these 
things  he  entered  the  room,  then  stood  stock  still 
as  though  petrified,  his  light  blue  eyes  vacant 
with  astonishment. 

The  dainty  figure  at  the  table  swinging  one 
arm  idly  over  its  chair  back  made  no  sign,  un- 
less the  impatient  tapping  of  a  fashionable 
boot-toe  upon  the  sanded  floor  might  be  taken 
for  one. 

"  Ods  fish ! "  exclaimed  Blossom,  moving 
heavily  a  few  steps  nearer.  "  I'  fecks !  but 
thee  art  a  very  dai-asy,  young  Maister!  Dost 
mind  how  'A  put  'e  to  bed?  Thou'st  pulled 
tha'  self  together  marvellous,  all  things  con- 
sidered ! 

"  Marry,  where  be  tha'  black  eye  ?  'twere 
swelled  big  as  a  ribstone  pippin ! " 

"  Beefsteak,"  answered  Deb,  laconically. 
"  Beefsteak,  my  lively  Blossom.  Tie  a  piece  on 
[101] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

tight  next  time  thou  hast  an  eye  like  mine — 
an'  see  what  thou  shalt  see." 

"  But  where  gottest  thou  the  beefsteak?  " 

"Egad!  where  does  any  one  get  it?  Don't 
stand  there  chattering  like  a  magpie,  but  bring 
me  my  breakfast.  This  head  I  have  doth  not 
feel  like  the  head  o'  Darby  Thornbury.  "Tis 
nigh  to  breaking.  Fetch  me  my  breakfast  and 
give  over  staring  at  a  man.  See'st  aught  odd 
enough  about  me  to  make  thee  go  daft?  " 

"  I'  fecks !  'tis  the  first  time  'A  ever  heard 
thee  call  so  loud  for  breakfast  after  such  a  bout 
as  thine  o'  yestere'en!  I  wonder  thou  hast 
stomach  for  't.  Howbeit,  'tis  thine  own  affair." 

The  girl  bit  her  lip.  "  Nay,"  she  said  with 
cool  accent,  "  I  may  have  small  appetite  for 
it — but,  as  thou  say'st,  'tis  mine  own  affair." 

"  Thou  need'st  good  advice  more  than  break- 
fast, young  Maister,"  said  Blossom,  solemnly. 
"  Thy  sister  was  in  a  way,  'A  tell  thee.  Thou 
art  become  a  roisterer,  a  drinker  an'  a  gambler 
that  lives  but  to  hear  the  clink  o'  gold  against 
the  table.  Ay!  Such  a  devil-may-care  gam- 
bler, an'  thou  had'st  a  beard  an'  no  money  thou 
would'st  stake  that  o'er  the  dice.  Being  these 
[102] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

things,  an'  a  player  o'  plays,  marry!  'A  see  no 
fair  end  ahead  o'  thee." 

"  Oh !  get  thee  away  an'  send  thy  good  wife 
— thou  dost  make  my  nerves  spin  with  thy 
prating.  Get  thee  away,"  said  Deb,  petulantly. 

"  Zounds !  but  thou  art  full  like  thyself  in 
speech.  Too  much  wine  i'  thy  stomach  one  day 
makes  a  monstrous  uncivil  tongue  i'  thy  head 
next." 

"  Nay  then !  I  ask  thy  pardon,  Blossom," 
cried  the  girl,  laughing,  and  holding  out  a 
crown  piece  she  had  discovered  in  a  pocket  of 
the  doublet,  "  thou  art  a  friend  I  have  no  will 
to  offend.  Now  send  thy  good  Dame." 

Shortly  Mistress  Blossom  came  bustling  in, 
rosy  in  the  face  from  bending  over  an  open 
fire.  She  carried  high  in  one  hand  a  platter 
from  which  drifted  a  savoury  smell,  and  a 
steaming  flagon  was  in  the  other.  Setting  these 
down  she  smoothed  her  voluminous  skirt  and 
stood  waiting,  an  expression  of  severe  displeas- 
ure hardening  her  face. 

"  A  goodly  day  to  you,  and  a  fresh  morn- 
ing, mistress,"  Deb  said  shortly — "  I  pray  thee 
shut  the  door — an'  see  it  be  latched." 
[103] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

The  woman  did  so  without  speaking. 

"  Now  look  at  me  well.  Come  " — smiling — 
"  did'st  ever  see  me  more  like  myself?  " 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  Dame,  after  a  slow  scru- 
tiny of  the  charming  figure.  "  In  looks  thou 
art  well  enow.  An'  thy  manners  matched, 
'twere  cause  for  rejoicing.  Thou  wer't  a  dis- 
grace yestere'en  to  thy  sister,  ay!  an'  to  the 
hamlet  o'  Shottery  that  saw  thee  raised." 

"  Make  a  finish,  good  Dame,"  answered  Deb, 
mockingly ;  "  say  a  disgrace  to  myself  an'  the 
company  o'  players  I  have  the  honour  of  be- 
longing to." 

"Hoity-toity!  Play  actors!"  quoth  the 
other.  "  Little  care  I  for  what  disgrace  thou 
be'st  to  them !  But  what  o'  thy  broken  head, 
lad?  Hath  it  sore  pained  thee?  Why,  my 
faith,  the  swelling  be  quite  gone ! " 

The  girl  gave  way  to  a  short  peal  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  Marry !  I  laugh,"  she  said,  struggling  for 
composure,  "  yet  feel  little  like  it.  Look  well 
again,  Mistress  Blossom.  Look  well.  Surely 
there  be  small  triumph  in  befooling  thee,  for 
thou  art  too  easy  hoodwinked  withal.  Gaze 
[104] 


A     MAID     OF     MANY    MOODS 

steady  now.  Dost  still  say  'tis  Darby  Thorn- 
bury?" 

The  woman  stared  while  her  complexion  went 
from  peony  red  to  pale  pink.  "  Thou  giv'st  me 
a  turn,  an'  I  be  like  to  swoon,"  she  gasped. 
"  What  prank  has't  afoot,  lad?  " 

"  Thou  wilt  go  a  bit  farther  before  thou  dost 
faint.  Hark  then,  an*  prythee  hold  by  the 
table  an'  thou  turn'st  giddy.  Now  doth  it 
come.  See  then,  this  handsome,  well-favoured 
youth  thou  art  breakfasting,"  rising  and  mak- 
ing a  pretty  bow,  "  is — is  none  other  than  Deb 
Thornbury!  " 

"  Ods  pitikins ! "  cried  the  woman. 

"  Sit  down,"  answered  Deb,  growing  sober. 
"  I  would  talk  with  thee,  for  I  need  thy  good- 
will and,  peradventure,  thy  help.  Things  with 
my  brother  are  in  a  very  coil.  He  will  not  be 
able  to  take  his  part  i'  the  new  play  on  the 
morrow.  His  face  is  too  sorely  marred.  Be- 
shrew  me,  he  looks  not  one  half  as  much  like 
himself  as  I  look  like  him.  Now  there  be  no 
understudy  i'  the  cast  for  the  character  Darby 
hath  taken — further,  'tis  an  all  important  one. 
To  have  him  away  would  mean  confusion  and 
[105] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

trouble  to  Blackfriars  and  I  gainsay  nothing 
rejoicing  to  the  Admiral's  Company  and  Lord 
Pembroke's  men.  'Tis  not  to  be  contemplated. 
By  the  Saints!  I  would  not  have  trouble  come 
to  Master  Will  Shakespeare  through  my  broth- 
er, no,  not  for  the  crown  jewels!  Dost  follow 
me?" 

"  Nay,  that  I  do  not  nor  what  thou'rt  coming 
at,"  was  the  dazed  response. 

Debora  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  hoped 
't  would  have  dawned  on  thee.  Why,  'tis  just 
this,  I  will  play  the  part  myself." 

"  Thou  ? "  cried  Dame  Blossom,  agape. 
"  Thou,  Mistress  Debora?  " 

"  Yes !  yes !  Nay,  ply  me  not  with  questions. 
My  mind  is  set.  There  be  not  one  in  London 
who  will  discover  me,  an'  thou  dost  not  break 
faith,  or  let  thy  good  man  scent  aught  on  the 
wind.  But  I  wanted  to  tell  thee,  dear  Mistress 
Blossom,  and  have  thy  good  word.  Pray  thee 
say  I  am  not  doing  wrong,  or  making  any  error. 
I  have  been  so  bewildered." 

"  I  will  not  say  thou  art  i'  the  right,  for  I 
know  not.  Has't  asked  Master  Darby's  con- 
sent? " 

[106] 


A    MAID     OF     MANY     MOODS 

The  girl  turned  impatiently.  "  Heart  o'  me ! 
but  thou  art  able  to  provoke  one.  His  con- 
sent !  "  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Nay  then — but 
I  will  show  him  his  face  i'  the  mirror,  an'  on 
sight  of  it  he  will  leave  things  for  me  to  settle." 

"  Ay !  "  the  dame  returned,  blankly,  "  I  war- 
rant he  will.  But  art  not  af eared  o'  the  people  ? 
What  if  they  should  discover  thou  art  a  woman!  " 

"  I'll  say  they  are  of  quicker  wit  than  one 
I  could  name,"  returned  Debora.  "  As  for  the 
play — well,  I  know  the  play  by  heart.  Now 
one  thing  more.  I  would  have  thee  go  with  me 
to  Blackfriars.  The  theatre  opens  at  four 
o'clock.  Say  thou  wilt  bear  me  company  dear, 
dear  Mistress  Blossom.  Say  thou  wilt." 

"  Nay  then,  I  will  not.  Ods  fish !  Thou  hast 
gotten  thyself  in  this  an'  thou  can'st  get  out 
alone.  I  will  keep  a  quiet  tongue,  but  ask  me 
to  do  naught  beside." 

"Well-a-day!  'Tis  as  I  thought.  Now  I 
will  go  and  dress  in  maidenly  clothes.  These 
fearsome  things  be  not  needed  till  the  morrow." 


[107] 


CHAPTER    VII 


VII 


BY  Monday  noon  Darby  Thornbury  was 
unable  to  lift  his  head  from  the  pillow 
by   reason   of  its   aching.      He   remem- 
bered nothing  about  receiving  the  blow  over  his 
eye,  and  talked  little.     Dame  Blossom  and  Deb- 
ora  tended  him  faithfully,  keeping  Master  Blos- 
som  away   from   a   true   knowledge   of   affairs. 
Debora  would  have  had  a  physician,  but  Darby 
would  not  listen  to  it. 

"  I  will  have  no  leeching,  blood-letting  nor 
evil-smelling  draughts,"  he  cried,  irritably ;  "  no 
poultices  nor  plasters  neither!  I  have  misery 
enough  without  adding  to  it,  Egad !  " 

Being  brought  to  this  pass  and  having  seen 
his  face  in  the  mirror,  he  bade  Debora  find  the 
Master-player  of  the  Company  and  make  what 
excuse  she  could  for  him. 

"  I  be  a  thrice-dyed  fool,  Deb,"  he  said  with 
a  groan.  "  Work  is  over  for  me  in  London. 
I'll  ship  to  the  Indies,  or  America,  an'  make  an 
ending."  Then  starting  up — "  Oh !  Deb,  could 
naught  be  done  with  me  so  that  I  could  play 
this  evening?  " 

[111] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  I  know  not,  dear  heart,"  she  answered 
gently,  "  perchance  thy  looks  might  not  count 
an'  thou  wer't  able  to  act.  Art  better?  " 

"  Nay,  worse !  "  he  said,  falling  back.  "  My 
head  maddens  me!  An'  not  a  word  o'  the  lines 
sticks  i'  my  memory."  So  he  raved  on,  fierce- 
ly upbraiding  himself  and  wearying  Debora. 
After  a  time  she  slipped  on  her  hooded  cloak, 
bade  him  good-bye,  and  went  out.  Returning, 
she  told  Darby  that  he  could  take  courage,  for 
a  substitute  had  been  found  in  his  place. 

"  Ask  no  questions,  dear  heart.  Nay — an' 
trouble  no  more,  but  rest.  Thou  wilt  be  on  the 
boards  by  Wednesday,  an'  thy  luck  is  good." 

"  Dost  think  so,  sweet?  "  he  asked,  weakly. 
"  An'  will  the  mark  be  gone  ?  " 

"  Why,  nearly,"  she  answered ;  "  an'  if  it  still 
be  a  little  blue,  we  will  paint  it.  In  any  case, 
thine  eye  will  be  open,  which  it  is  not  now." 

"  Thou  art  a  very  angel,  Deb,  an'  I  am  a 
brute.  I  know  not  where  they  got  one  to  take 
my  part — an'  Marry!  I  seem  not  to  care. 
Never  will  I  drink  aught  but  water.  Nay,  then, 
thou  shalt  not  go.  Stay  by  me  till  I  sleep,  for 
there  be  queer  lights  before  my  eyes,  an'  I  see 
[112] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

thee  through  them.  Thou  art  so  beautiful, 
Deb,  so  beautiful." 

She  waited  till  he  slept,  sometimes  smiling  to 
herself  in  a  wise  way.  What  children  men  were 
when  they  were  ill,  she  thought.  Even  Dad 
would  not  let  her  out  of  his  sight  when  the 
rheumatism  crippled  him  all  last  winter.  Why, 
once  Nick  Berwick  came  in  with  a  sprained 
wrist,  and  naught  would  be  but  Deb  must  bathe 
and  bind  it.  Nick  Berwick!  he  was  so  strong 
and  tall  and  straight.  A  sigh  broke  over  her 
lips  as  she  rose  and  went  away  to  her  room. 

Half  an  hour  later  Debora  came  down  the 
stairs  dressed  in  the  suit  of  Kendal  green. 
Dame  Blossom  met  her  in  the  hallway. 

"  Dost  keep  to  thy  mad  plan,  Mistress  Deb?  " 

"  Truly,"  answered  the  girl.  "  See,  I  will  be 
back  by  sundown.  Have  no  fear  for  me,  the 
tiring-room  hath  a  latch,  an'  none  know  me 
for  myself.  Keep  thy  counsel  an'  take  care  o' 
Darby." 


Blackfriars  was  filled  that  March  afternoon. 
The  narrow  windows  in  the  upper  gallery  had 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

all  been  darkened,  and  the  house  was  lit  by  a 
thousand  lights  that  twinkled  down  on  eager 
faces  turned  towards  the  stage.  Even  then  at 
the  edge  of  the  rush-strewn  boards  was  a  line 
of  stools,  which  had  been  taken  at  a  rose-noble 
apiece  by  some  score  of  young  gallants. 

Those  who  watched  the  passing  of  the  Mas- 
ter's new  romance  remembered  it  while  life  was 
in  them.  Many  told  their  children's  children 
of  the  marvel  of  it  in  the  years  that  followed.  - 

"  There  was  a  maid  i'  the  play  that  day," 
said  a  man,  long  after,  "  whom  they  told  me 
was  no  maid,  but  a  lad.  The  name  was  written 
so  on  the  great  coloured  bill  i'  the  play-house 
entrance.  '  Marry !  an'  he  be  not  a  maid,'  said 
I,  *  'tis  little  matter.'  He  played  the  part  o' 
Juliet,  not  as  play-acting,  but  reality.  After 
the  curtain  was  rung  down  the  people  stole 
away  in  quiet,  but  their  tongues  loosened  when 
they  got  beyond  the  theatre,  for  by  night  the 
lad  was  the  talk  o'  London. 

"  So  it  went  the  next  day,  an'  the  next,  I 

being  there  to  see,  an'   fair  fascinated  by   it. 

Master   Will    Shakespeare    was   noticed   i'    the 

house    the    third    evening    for    the    first    time, 

[114] 


A     MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

though  peradventure  he  had  been  with  the  Com- 
pany behind  the  scenes,  or  overhead  in  the 
musicians'  balcony.  Howbeit,  when  he  was  dis- 
covered there  was  such  a  thunder  o'  voices  call- 
ing his  name  that  the  walls  o'  the  play-house 
fairly  rocked. 

"  So  he  came  out  before  the  curtain  and 
bowed  in  the  courtly  way  he  hath  ever  had. 
His  dress  was  all  of  black,  the  doublet  o'  black 
satin  shining  with  silver  thread,  an'  the  little 
cloak  from  his  shoulders  o'  black  velvet.  He 
wore,  moreover,  a  mighty  ruff  fastened  with  a 
great  pearl,  which,  I  heard  whispered,  was  one 
the  Queen  herself  had  sent  him.  Report  doth 
says  he  wears  black  always,  black  or  sober  grays, 
in  memory  o'  a  little  lad  of  his — who  died. 
Well-a-day ;  I  know  not  if  't  be  true,  but  I  do 
know  that  as  he  stood  there  alone  upon  the 
stage  a  quiet  fell  over  the  theatre  till  one  could 
hear  one's  own  heart  beat.  He  spoke  with  a 
voice  not  over-steady,  yet  far-reaching  and 
sweet  and  clear,  an',  if  my  memory  hath  not 
played  me  false,  'twas  this  he  said : — 

"  *  Good  citizens,  you  who  are  friendly  to  all 
true  players  of  whatever  Company  they  be,  I 
[115] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

give  you  thanks,  and  as  a  full  heart  hath  ever 
few  words,  perchance  'tis  left  me  but  to  say 
again  and  again,  I  give  you  thanks.  Yet  to 
the  gentlemen  of  my  Lord  Chamberlain's  Com- 
pany I  owe  much,  for  they  have  played  so 
rarely  well,  the  story  hath  indeed  so  gained  at 
their  hands,  I  have  dared  to  hope  it  will  live  on. 

"  *  'Tis  but  a  beautiful  dream  crystallised, 
but  may  it  not,  peradventure,  be  seen  again  by 
other  people  of  other  times,  when  we,  the  play- 
ers of  this  little  hour,  have  long  grown  weary 
and  gone  to  rest;  and  when  England  is  kindlier 
to  her  actors  and  reads  better  the  lessons  of  the 
stage  than  now.  When  England — friends  of 
mine — is  older  and  wiser,  for  older  and  wiser 
she  will  surely  grow,  though  no  dearer — no 
dearer,  God  wots — than  to-day.' 

"  Ay ! "  said  he  who  told  of  this,  "  in  such 
manner — though  perchance  I  have  garbled  the 
words — he  spoke — Will  Shakespeare — in  the  old 
theatre  of  Blackfriars,  and  for  us  who  listened 
'twas  enough  to  see  him  and  know  he  was  of 
ourselves." 

Behind  the  scenes  there  was  much  wonder- 
ment over  the  strangely  clever  acting  of  Darby 
[116] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

Thornbury.  Two  players  guessed  the  truth; 
another  knew  also.  This  was  a  man,  one  Nicho- 
las Berwick. 

He  stood  down  by  the  leathern  screenings  of 
the  entrance,  and  three  afternoons  he  was  there, 
his  face  white  as  the  face  of  the  dead,  his  eyes 
burning  with  an  inward  fire.  He  watched  the 
stage  with  mask-like  face,  and  his  great  form 
gave  no  way  though  the  throng  pressed  and 
jostled  him.  Now  and  again  it  would  be  whis- 
pered that  he  was  a  little  mad.  If  he  heard, 
he  heeded  nothing.  To  him  it  was  as  though 
the  end  of  all  things  had  been  reached. 

He  saw  Debora,  only  Debora.  She  was  there 
for  all  those  curious  eyes  to  gaze  upon,  an'  this 
in  absolute  defiance  of  every  manner  and  cus- 
tom of  the  times.  Slowly  it  came  to  Berwick's 
mind,  distraught  and  tortured,  that  she  was 
playing  in  Darby's  stead,  and  with  some  good 
reason.  "  That  matters  not,"  he  thought.  "  If 
it  be  discovered  there  will  be  no  stilling  o'  wicked 
tongues,  nor  quieting  o'  Shottery  gossip."  As 
for  himself,  he  had  no  doubt  of  her.  She  was 
his  sovereign  lady,  who  could  do  no  wrong,  even 
masquerading  thus.  But  a  very  terror  for  her 
[117] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

possessed  him.  Seeming  not  to  listen,  he  yet 
heard  what  the  people  said  in  intervals  of  the 
play.  They  were  quick  to  discover  the  genius 
of  the  young  actor  they  called  Thornbury,  and 
commented  freely  upon  his  wonderful  interpre- 
tation of  lines;  but,  well  as  he  was  known  by 
sight,  not  a  word — a  hint,  nor  an  innuendo  was 
spoken  to  throw  a  doubt  on  his  identity.  Deb- 
ora's  resemblance  to  him  was  too  perfect,  the 
flowing,  heavy  garments  too  completely  hid  the 
girlish  figure.  Further,  her  accent  was  Darby's 
own,  even  the  trick  of  gesture  and  smile  were 
his;  only  the  marvel  of  genius  was  in  one  and 
not  in  the  other. 

What  the  girl's  reasons  could  be  for  such 
desperate  violation  of  custom  Berwick  could  not 
divine,  yet  while  groping  blindly  for  them,  with 
stifled  pain  in  his  heart  and  wild  longing  to 
take  her  away  from  it  all,  he  gave  her  his  good 
faith. 

Just  after  sundown,  when  the  play  was  ended, 
the  man  would  watch  the  small  side  door  the 
actors  alone  used.  Well  he  knew  the  figure  in 
the  Kendal  green  suit.  Debora  must  have 
changed  her  costume  swiftlv,  for  she  was  among 
[118] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

the  first  to  leave  the  theatre,  and  twice  escaped 
without  being  detained  by  any.  On  the  third 
evening  Berwick  saw  her  followed  by  two 
actors. 

"Well  met,  Thornbury!"  they  called. 
"  Thou  hast  given  us  the  slip  often  enough, 
and  further,  Master  Shakespeare  himself  was 
looking  for  thee  as  we  came  out.  Hold  up,  we 
be  going  by  the  ferry  also  and  are  bound  to 
have  thee  for  company.  'Fore  Heaven,  thou  art 
a  man  o'  parts !  " 

Debora  halted,  swinging  half  round  toward 
them  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Hasten,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment. Your  lines  be  lighter  than  mine, 
in  good  sooth,  or  your  voices  would  need  rest- 
ing." 

"  Thou  hast  been  a  very  wonder,  Thorn- 
bury,"  cried  the  first.  "  Talking  of  voices, 
what  syrup  doth  use,  lad  ?  Never  heard  I  tones 
more  smooth  than  thine.  Thou  an'  Sherwood 
together !  Egad !  'Twas  most  singular  an' 
beautiful  in  effect.  Thy  modulation  was  per- 
fect, no  wretched  cracking  nor  breaking  i'  the 
pathetic  portions  as  we  be  trained  to  expect. 
[119] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

My  voice,  now!  it  hath  a  fashion  of  splitting 
into  a  thousand  fragments  an'  I  try  to  bridle 
it." 

"  'Tis  all  i'  the  training,"  responded  Debora, 
shortly. 

"  Beshrew  me ! "  said  the  other ;  "  if  'tis  not 
pity  to  turn  thee  back  into  these  clothes,  Thorn- 
bury.  By  Saint  George!  yes — thou  dost  make 
too  fine  a  woman." 

Berwick  clenched  his  hands  as  he  followed 
hard  behind.  The  players  decided  to  cross  by 
London  Bridge,  as  the  ferries  were  over-crowd- 
ed, and  still  the  man  kept  his  watch.  Reaching 
Southwark,  the  three  separated,  Debora  going 
on  alone.  As  she  came  toward  Master  Blos- 
som's house  a  man  passed  Berwick,  whom  he 
knew  at  a  glance  to  be  the  actor  Sherwood.  He 
was  not  one  to  be  easily  forgotten,  and  upon 
Nicholas  Berwick's  memory  his  features  were 
fixed  indelibly ;  the  remembrance  of  his  voice 
was  a  torture.  Fragments  of  the  passionate, 
immortal  lines,  as  this  man  had  spoken  them  at 
Blackfriars,  went  through  his  mind  endlessly. 

Now  Sherwood  caught  up  to  the  boyish  fig- 
ure as  it  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  house. 
[120] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

Berwick  waited  in  shadow  near  by,  but  they 
gave  him  no  heed.  He  saw  the  girl  turn  with 
a  smile  that  illumined  her  face.  The  actor 
lifted  his  hat  and  stood  bareheaded  looking  up- 
ward. He  spoke  with  eager  intensity.  Berwick 
caught  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  and  in  fancy 
heard  the  very  words. 

Debora  shook  her  head  in  a  wilful  fashion 
of  her  own,  but,  bending  down,  held  out  her 
hand.  Sherwood  raised  it  to  his  lips — and — 
but  the  lonely  watcher  saw  no  more,  for  he 
turned  away  through  the  twilight. 

"  The  play  is  ended  for  thee,  Nick  Berwick," 
he  said,  half  aloud.  "  The  play  is  ended ;  the 
curtain  dropped.  Ay — an'  the  lights  be  out." 
He  paced  toward  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  in 
the  eastern  sky,  that  was  of  that  rare  colour 
that  is  neither  blue  nor  green,  but  both  blended, 
a  golden  star  swung,  while  in  the  west  a  line  of 
rose  touched  the  gray  above.  A  benediction 
seemed  to  have  fallen  over  the  world  at  the  end 
of  the  turbulent  day.  But  to  Nicholas  Berwick 
there  was  peace  neither  in  the  heavens  nor  the 
earth. 

[121] 


CHAPTER    VIII 


VIII 

DEBORA  went  to  her  own  room  swiftly 
that  third  evening,  and,  turning  the 
key,  stood  with  her  two  hands  pressed 
tight  above  her  heart.  "  'Tis  over,"  she  said 
— "  'tis  over,  an'  well  over.  Now  to  tell  Darby. 
I'  faith,  I  know  not  rightly  who  I  am.  Nay, 
then,  I  am  just  Deb  Thornbury,  not  Darby, 
nor  Juliet,  for  evermore.  Oh!  what  said  he  at 
the  steps?  '  I  know  thee,  I  have  known  thee 
from  the  first.  See,  thou  art  mine,  thou  art 
mine,  I  tell  thee,  Juliet,  Juliet ! '  " 

Then  the  girl  laughed,  a  happy  little  laugh. 
"  Was  ever  man  so  imperative  ?  Nay,  was  ever 
such  a  one  in  the  wide,  wide  world  ?  " 

Remembering  her  dress,  she  unfastened  it 
with  haste  and  put  on  the  kirtle  of  white  taffeta. 

The  thought  of  Sherwood  possessed  her;  his 
face,  the  wonderful  golden  voice  of  him.  The 
words  he  had  said  to  her — to  her  only — in  the 
play. 

Of  the  theatre  crowded  to  the  doors,  of  the 
stage  where  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Company 
made  their  exits  and  entrances,  of  herself — 
[125] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

chief  amongst  them  —  she  thought  nothing. 
Those  things  had  gone  like  a  dream.  She  saw 
only  a  man  standing  bareheaded  before  the  lit- 
tle house  of  Dame  Blossom.  "  I  know  thee," 
he  had  said,  looking  into  her  eyes.  "  Thou  art 
mine." 

"  Verily,  yes — or  will  be  no  other's,"  she  had 
answered  him ;  "  and  as  for  Fate,  it  hath  been 
over-kind."  So,  with  her  mind  on  these 
thoughts,  she  went  to  Darby's  room. 

He  was  standing  idly  by  the  window,  and 
wheeled  about  as  the  girl  knocked  and  entered. 

"  How  look  I  now,  Deb?  "  he  cried.  "  Come 
to  the  light.  Nay,  'tis  hardly  enough  to  see 
by,  but  dost  think  I  will  pass  muster  on  the 
morrow?  I  am  weary  o'  being  mewed  up  like 
a  cat  in  a  bag." 

Debora  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  soberly,  not 
speaking. 

"  What  is't  now? "  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  What  art  staring  at  ?  Thine  eyes  be  like 
saucers." 

"  I  be  wondering  what  thou  wilt  say  an'  I 
tell  thee  somewhat,"  she  answered,  softly. 

"  Out  with  it  then.  Thou  hast  seen  Ber- 
[126] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

wick,  I  wager.  I  heard  he  was  to  be  in 
town;  he  hath  followed  thee,  Deb,  an' — well, 
pretty  one — things  are  settled  between  thee  at 
last?" 

'*  Verily,  no ! "  she  cried,  her  face  colouring, 
"  an'  thou  canst  not  better  that  guessing,  thou 
hadst  best  not  try  again." 

"  No?     Then  what's  to  do,  little  sister?  " 

"  Dost  remember  I  told  thee  they  had  found 
one  to  take  thy  part  at  Blackf riars  ?  " 

"  Egad,  yes,  that  thought  has  been  i'  my 
head  ever  since.  'Fore  Heaven,  I  would  some 
one  sent  me  word  who  'twas.  I  ache  for  news. 
Hast  heard  who  'twas,  Deb?  " 

"  'Twas  I,"  she  answered,  the  pink  going 
from  her  face.  "  'Twas  I,  Debora !  " 

The  young  fellow  caught  at  the  window 
ledge  and  looked  at  her  steadily  without  a  word. 
Then  he  broke  into  a  strange  laugh.  Taking 
the  girl  by  the  shoulder  he  swung  her  to  the 
fading  light. 

"  What  dost  mean  ? "  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  Tell  me  the  truth." 

"  I'  faith,  that  is  the  truth,"  she  answered, 
quietly.  "  The  only  truth.  There  was  no  other 
[127] 


way  I  could  think  of — and  I  had  the  lines  by 
heart.  None  knew  me.  All  thought  'twas  thee, 
Darby.  See,  see!  when  I  was  fair  encased  in 
that  Kendal  green  suit  o'  thine,  why  even  Dad 
could  not  have  told  'twas  not  thy  very  self! 
We  must  be  strangely  alike  o'  face,  dear  heart 
— though  mayhap  our  souls  be  different." 

"  Nay !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  'tis  past  belief  that 
thou  should'st  take  my  part!  My  brain  whirls 
to  think  on't.  I  saw  thee  yesternight — the  day 
before — this  noon-day — an'  thou  wert  as  un- 
ruffled as  a  fresh-blown  rose.  Naught  was 
wrong  with  thy  colour,  and  neither  by  word  or 
sign  did'st  give  me  an  inkling  of  such  mad 
doings !  'Gad ! — if  'tis  true  it  goes  far  to  prove 
that  a  woman  can  seem  most  simple  when  she 
is  most  subtle.  An'  yet — though  I  like  it  not, 
Deb — I  know  not  what  to  say  to  thee.  'Twas 
a  venturous,  mettlesome  thing  to  do — an'  worse 
— 'twas  vastly  risky.  We  be  not  so  alike — I 
cannot  see  it." 

"  Nor   I,   always"   she  said,  with  a  shrug, 

"  but  others  do.     Have  no  fear  of  discovery, 

one  only  knows  beside  Dame  Blossom,  and  they 

will  keep  faith.     Neither  fear  for  thy  reputa- 

[128] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

tion.  The  people  gave  me  much  applause, 
though  I  played  not  for  that." 

Darby  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and 
dropped  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Who  is't  that  knows?"  he  asked,  half- 
roughly,  after  a  pause.  "Who  is't,  Deb?" 

"  He  who  played  Romeo,"  she  said,  in  low 
tone. 

"  Sherwood  ?  "  exclaimed  Darby.  "  Don 
Sherwood !  I  might  have  guessed." 

"  Ay !  "  replied  the  girl.  "  He  only,  I  have 
reason  to  believe."  A  silence  fell  between 
them,  while  the  young  fellow  restlessly  crossed 
to  the  window  again.  Debora  went  to  him 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  as  was 
her  way. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  go  thy  own  road  again, 
Darby  ?  "  she  said,  coaxingly.  "  Perchance  'tis 
hard  to  live  straightly  here  in  London — still 
promise  me  thou  wilt  not  let  the  ways  o'  the 
city  warp  thy  true  heart.  See,  then,  what  I 
did  was  done  for  thee;  mayhap  'twas  wrong — 
thou  know'st  'twas  fearsome,  an'  can  ne'er  be 
done  again." 

"  'Twill  not  be  needed  again,  Deb,"  he  an- 
[129] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

swered,  and  his  voice  trembled.  "  Nay,  I  will 
go  no  more  my  own  way,  but  thy  way,  and 
Dad's.  Dost  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Ay ! "  she  said,  smiling,  though  her  lashes 
were  wet,  "  Dad's  way,  for  'tis  a  good  way,  a 
far  better  one  than  any  thy  wilful,  wayward 
little  sister  could  show  thee." 

Out  of  doors  the  velvety  darkness  deepened. 
Somewhere,  up  above,  a  night-hawk  called  now 
and  again  its  harsh,  yet  plaintive,  note.  A 
light  wind,  bearing  the  smell  of  coming  rain 
and  fresh  breaking  earth,  blew  in,  spring-like 
and  sweet,  yet  sharp. 

Presently  Debora  spoke,  half  hesitatingly. 

'*  I  would  thou  wert  minded  to  tell  me  some- 
what," she  started,  "  somewhat  o'  Sherwood,  the 
player.  Hath  he — hath  he  the  good  opinion  o' 
Master  Will  Shakespeare — now  ?  " 

"  In  truth,  yes,"  returned  the  actor.  "  And 
of  the  whole  profession.  It  seems,"  smiling 
a  little,  "  it  seems  thou  dost  take  Master  Shake- 
speare's word  o'  a  man  as  final.  He  stand'th 
in  thy  good  graces  or  fall'th  out  o'  them  by 
that,  eh!" 

"  Well,  peradventure,  'tis  so,"  she  admitted, 
[130] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

pursing  up  her  lips.  "  But  Master  Don  Sher- 
wood— tell  me " 

"  Oh !  as  for  him,"  broke  in  Darby,  welcom- 
ing any  subject  that  turned  thought  from  him- 
self, "  he  is  a  rare  good  fellow,  is  Sherwood, 
though  that  be  not  his  real  name,  sweet.  'Tis 
not  often  a  man  makes  change  of  his  name  on 
the  handbills,  but  'tis  done  now  and  again." 

"  It  doth  seem  an  over-strange  fashion,"  said 
Debora,  "  an'  one  that  must  surely  have  a  rea- 
son back  o'  it.  What,  then,  is  Master  Sher- 
wood called  when  he  be  rightly  named?  " 

"  Now  let  me  think,"  returned  Darby,  frown- 
ing, "  the  sound  of  it  hath  slipped  me.  Nay, 
I  have  it  —  Don  —  Don,  ah !  Dorien  North. 
There  'tis,  and  the  fore  part  is  the  same  as  the 
little  lad's  at  home,  an  uncommon  title,  yet 
smooth  to  the  tongue.  Don  Sherwood  is  prob- 
ably one  Dorien  Sherwood  North,  an'  that 
too  sounds  well.  He  hath  a  rare  voice.  It 
play'th  upon  a  man  strangely,  and  there  be 
tones  in  it  that  bring  tears  when  one  would  not 
have  them.  Thou  should'st  hear  him  sing  Ben 
Jonson's  song !  '  Rare  Ben  Jonson,'  as  some 
fellow  hath  written  him  below  a  verse  o'  his, 
[131] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

carved  over  the  blackwood  mantel  at  the  Devil's 
tavern.  Thou  should'st  hear  Sherwood  sing, 
'  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes.'  I'  faith ! 
he  carries  one's  soul  away!  Ah!  Deb,"  he 
ended,  "  I  am  having  a  struggle  to  keep  my 
mind  free  from  that  escapade  o'  thine.  Jove! 
an'  I  thought  any  other  recognised  thee ! " 

"  None  other  did,  I'll  gainsay,"  Debora  an- 
swered, in  a  strangely  quiet  way ;  "  an'  he  only 
because  he  found  me  that  day  i'  the  Royal  Box 
— so  long  ago.  What  was't  thou  did'st  call 
him,  Darby?  Don  Sherwood?  Nay,  Dorien 
North.  Dorien  North !  " 

Her  hand,  which  had  been  holding  Darby's 
sleeve,  slipped  away  from  it,  and  with  a  little 
cry  she  fell  against  the  window  ledge  and  so  to 
the  floor. 

Darby  hardly  realised  for  a  moment  that  she 
had  fainted.  When  she  did  not  move  he  stooped 
and  lifted  her  quickly,  his  heart  beating  fast 
with  fear. 

"Why,    Deb!"    he     cried.       "What    is't? 

Heaven's    mercy!     She    hath    swooned.     Nay, 

then,  not  quite;  there,  then,  open  thine  eyes 

again.     Thou  hast  been  fore  wearied,  an*  with 

[132] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

reason.  Art  thyself  now  ?  "  as  his  sister  looked 
up  and  strove  to  rise. 

"Whatever  came  over  thee,  sweet?  Try  not 
to  walk.  I  will  lift  thee  to  the  bed  an'  call 
Dame  Blossom.  Marry!  what  queer  things 
women  be." 

"  Ay !  truly,"  she  answered,  faintly,  steady- 
ing herself  against  him.  "  Ay !  vastly  queer. 
Nay,  I  will  not  go  to  the  bed,  but  will  sit  in 
your  chair." 

"  Thou  art  white  as  linen,"  anxiously.  "  May 
I  leave  thee  to  call  the  Dame?  I  fear  me  lest 
thou  go  off  again." 

"  Fear  naught  o'  that,"  said  Deb,  with  a  lit- 
tle curl  of  her  lips.  "  An'  call  Mistress  Blos- 
som an'  thou  wilt,  but  'tis  nothing;  there — 
dear  heart,  I  will  be  well  anon.  Hast  not  some 
jaunt  for  to-night?  I  would  not  keep  thee, 
Darby." 

"  'Tis  naught  but  the  players'  meeting-night 
at  The  Mermaid.  It  hath  no  great  charm  for 
me,  and  I  will  cry  it  off  on  thy  account." 

"  That  thou  wilt  not,"  she  said,  with  spirit, 
a  bit  of  pink  coming  to  her  face  with  the  effort. 
"  I  can  trust  thee,  an'  thou  must  go.  'Twill 
[133] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

ne'er  do  to  have  one  an'  another  say, — '  Now, 
where  be  Darby  Thornbury  ?  '  There  might  be 
some  suspicions  fly  about  an'  they  met  thee 
not." 

"  Thou  hast  a  wise  head.  'Twould  not  do, — 
and  I  have  a  game  o'  bluff  to  carry  on  that 
thou  hast  started.  Thou  little  heroine !  "  kiss- 
ing her  hand.  "  What  pluck  thou  did'st  have ! 
What  cool  pluck.  Egad !  "  ruefully,  "  I  almost 
wish  thou  had'st  not  had  so  much.  'Twas  a 
desperate  game,  and  I  pray  the  saints  make  me 
equal  to  the  finish." 

"  'Twas  desperate  need  to  play  it,"  she  an- 
swered, wearily.  "  Go,  then,  I  would  see  Mis- 
tress Blossom." 

Thornbury  stood,  half  hesitating,  turned,  and 
went  out. 

"  'Twill  ever  be  so  with  him,"  said  the  girl. 
"He  lov'th  me— but  he  lov'th  Darby  Thorn- 
bury  better." 

Then  she  hid  her  face.  "  Oh !  heart  o'  me ! 
I  cannot  bear  it,  I  cannot  bear  it — 'tis  too  much. 
I  will  go  away  to  Shottery  to-morrow.  I  mind 
me  what  Dad  said,  an'  't  has  come  to  be  truth. 
*  Thou  wilt  never  bide  in  peace  at  One  Tree  Inn 
[134] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

again.'  Peace !  "  she  said,  with  bitter  accent. 
"  Peace !  I  think  there  be  no  peace  in  the  world ; 
or  else  't  hath  passed  me  by." 

Resting  her  chin  on  her  hand,  she  sat  think- 
ing in  the  shadowy  room.  Darby  had  lit  a  can- 
dle on  the  high  mantel,  and  her  sombre  eyes 
rested  on  the  yellow  circle  of  light. 

"  Who  was't  I  saw  'n  the  road  as  I  came  out 
o'  Blackfriars?  Who  was't — now  let  me  think. 
I  paid  no  more  heed  than  though  I  had  seen 
him  in  a  dream,  yet  'twas  some  one  from  home 
— Now  I  mind  me !  'Twas  Nicholas  Berwick. 
His  eyes  burned  in  his  white  face.  He  stared 
straightway  at  me  an'  made  no  sign.  An'  so 
he  was  in  the  theatre  also.  Then  he  knew! 
Poor  Nick !  poor  Nick !  "  she  said,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  "  He  loved  me,  or  he  hath  belied  himself 
many  times;  an'  I!  I  thought  little  on't." 

"  Oh !  Mistress  Blossom,"  as  the  door  opened. 
"  Is't  thou  ?  Come  over  beside  me."  As  the 
good  Dame  came  close,  the  girl  threw  her  arms 
about  her  neck. 

"  Why,  sweet  lamb !  "  exclaimed  the  woman. 
"  What  hath  happened  thee  ?  Whatever  hath 
happened  thee?  " 

[135] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  What  is  one  to  do  when  the  whole  world 
go'th  wrong?"  cried  Debora.  "Oh!  gaze  not 
so  at  me,  I  be  not  dazed  or  distraught.  Oh! 
dear  Mistress  Blossom,  I  care  not  to  live  to 
be  as  old  as  thou  art.  I  am  forewearied  o' 
life." 

"  Weary  o'  life !  an'  at  thy  time !  My  faith, 
thou  hast  not  turned  one-and-twenty !  Why, 
then,  Mistress  Debora,  I  be  eight-an'-forty,  yet 
count  that  not  old  by  many  a  year." 

Deb  gave  a  tired  little  gesture.  "  Every  one 
to  their  fancy — to  me  the  world  and  all  in  it 
is  a  twice-told  tale.  I  would  not  have  more  o'  it 
— by  choice."  She  rose  and  turned  her  face 
down  toward  the  good  Dame.  "  An'  one  come 
to  ask  for  me — a — a  player,  one  Master  Sher- 
wood of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Company — 
could'st  thou — would'st  thou  bid  him  wait  be- 
low i*  the  small  parlour  till  I  come?  " 

"  Ay,  truly,"  answered  the  woman,  brighten- 
ing. "  Thou  art  heartily  welcome  to  receive 
him  there,  Mistress  Debora." 

"  Thank  thee  kindly.  He  hath  business  with 
me,  but  will  not  tarry  long." 

"  I  warrant  many  a  grand  gentleman  would 
[136] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

envy  him  that  business,"  said  the  Dame,  smil- 
ing. 

Debora  gave  a  little  laugh — short  and  hard. 
Her  eyes,  of  a  blue  that  was  almost  black, 
shone  like  stars. 

"  Dost  think  so  ?  "  she  said.  "  Nay,  then, 
thou  art  a  flatterer.  I  will  to  my  room.  My 
hair  is  roughened,  is't  not  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  rarely  beautiful  as  thou  art ; 
there  be  little  rings  o'  curls  about  thy  ears.  I 
would  not  do  aught  to  them.  Thy  face  hath 
no  colour,  yet  ne'er  saw  I  thee  more  comely." 

"  Now,  that  is  well,"  she  answered.  "  That 
giveth  my  faint  heart  courage,  an'  marry!  'tis 
what  I  need.  I  would  not  look  woe-begone,  or 
of  a  cast-down  countenance,  not  I!  but  would 
bear  me  bravely,  an'  there  be  cause.  Go  thou 
now,  good  Mistress  Blossom;  the  faintness  hath 
quite  passed." 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  before  Debora  heard 
the  Dame's  voice  again  at  the  door. 

"  He  hath  come,"  she  said,  in  far-reaching 
whisper  fraught  with  burden  of  unrelieved 
curiosity. 

"  He  doth  wait  below,  Mistress  Deb.  Be- 
[137] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

shrew  me!  but  he  is  as  goodly  a  gentleman  as 
any  i'  London!  His  doublet  is  brocaded  an' 
o'er  brave  with  silver  lacings,  an'  he  wear'th  a 
fluted  ruff  like  the  quality  at  Court.  More- 
over, he  hold'th  himself  like  a  very  Prince." 

"  Doth  he  now?  "  said  Debora,  going  down 
the  hallway.  "  Why,  then  he  hath  fair  capti- 
vated thee.  Thou,  at  thy  age!  Well-a-day! 
What  think'st  o'  his  voice,"  she  asked,  pausing 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "  What  think'st  o' 
his  voice,  Mistress  Blossom  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  'twould  be  fine  an'  easy  for  him 
to  persuade  one  to  his  way  o'  thinking  with  it 
— even  against  their  will,"  answered  the  woman, 
smiling. 

"  Ah !  good  Dame,  I  agree  not  with  thee  in 
that,"  said  Debora.  "  I  think  he  hath  be- 
witched thee,  i'  faith."  So  saying,  she  went 
below,  opened  the  little  parlour  door,  and 
entered. 

Sherwood  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  which  was  but  dimly  lit  by  the  high  can- 
dles. Deb  did  not  speak  till  she  had  gone  to  a 
window  facing  the  deserted  common-land,  pulled 
back  the  curtains  and  caught  them  fast.  A 
[138] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

flood  of  white  moonlight  washed  through  the 
place  and  made  it  bright. 

The  player  seemed  to  realise  there  was  some- 
thing strange  about  the  girl,  for  he  stood  quite 
still,  watching  her  quick  yet  deliberate  move- 
ment anxiously. 

As  she  came  toward  him  from  the  window 
he  held  out  his  hands.  "  Sweetheart !  "  he  said, 
unsteadily.  "  Sweetheart !  " 

"  Nay,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  shake  of 
her  head  and  clasping  her  hands  behind.  "  Not 
thine." 

"  Ay !  "  he  cried,  passionately,  "  thou  art — 
all  mine.  Thine  eyes,  so  truthful,  so  won- 
drous ;  the  gold-flecked  waves  of  thine  hair ;  the 
white  o'  thy  throat  that  doth  dazzle  me;  the 
sweetness  of  thy  lips;  the  little  hands  behind 
thee." 

"  So,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  catch  of  the 
breath,  "  so  thou  dost  say,  but  'tis  not  true.  As 
for  my  body,  such  as  it  is,  it  is  my  own." 

Sherwood  leaned  toward  her,  his  eyes  dark 
and  luminous.  "  'Fore  Heaven,  thou  art 
wrong,"  he  said.  "  Thou  dost  belong  to  me." 

"What  o'  my  soul?"  she  asked,  softly. 
[139] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  What  o'  my  soul,  Sir  Romeo?  Is  that  thine, 
too?  " 

"  Nay,"  he  answered,  looking  into  her  face, 
white  from  some  inward  rebellion.  "  Nay,  then, 
sweetheart,  for  I  think  that  is  God's." 

"  Then,  thou  hast  left  me  nothing,"  she  cried, 
moving  away.  "  Oh !  "  —  throwing  out  her 
hands — "  hark  thee,  Master  Sherwood.  'Tis  a 
far  cry  since  thou  did'st  leave  me  by  the  steps 
at  sundown.  A  far,  far  cry.  The  world  hath 
had  time  to  change.  I  did  not  know  thee  then. 
Now  I  do." 

"  Why,  I  love  thee,"  he  answered,  not  under- 
standing. "  I  love  thee,  thou  dost  know  that 
surely.  Come,  tell  me.  What  else  dost  know, 
sweetheart?  See!  I  am  but  what  thou  would'st 
have — bid  me  by  what  thou  wilt.  I  will  serve 
thee  in  any  way  thou  dost  desire.  I  have  given 
my  life  to  thee — and  by  it  I  swear  again  thou 
art  mine." 

"  That  I  am  not,"  she  said,  standing  before 
him  still  and  unyielding.  "  Look  at  me — look 
well!" 

The  man  bent  down  and  looked  steadfastly 
into  the  girl's  tragic  face.  It  was  coldly  in- 
[140] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

flexible,  and  wore  the  faint  shadow  of  a  smile 
— a  smile  such  as  the  lips  of  the  dead  sometimes 
wear,  as  though  they  knew  all  things,  having 
unriddled  life's  problem. 

"Debora!"  he  cried.  "Debora!  What  is 
it?  What  hath  come  to  thee?  " 

She  laughed,  a  little  rippling  laugh  that 
broke  and  ended.  "  Nay,  thou  traitor — that  I 
will  not  tell  thee — but  go — go !  " 

The  player  stood  a  moment  irresolute,  then 
caught  her  wrists  and  held  them.  His  face  had 
turned  hard  and  coldly  grave  as  her  own.  Some 
look  in  his  eyes  frightened  her. 

"  'Tis  a  coil,"  he  said,  "  and  Fate  doth  work 
against  me.  Yet  verily  'tis  a  coil  I  will  unravel. 
I  am  not  easily  worsted,  but  in  the  end  bend 
things  to  my  will.  An'  thou  wilt  not  tell  me 
what  stands  i'  my  road,  I  will  discover  it  for 
myself.  As  for  the  Judas  name  thou  hast  called 
me — it  fits  me  not.  Should'st  thou  desire  to  tell 
me  so  thyself  at  any  time — to  take  it  back — 
send  me  but  a  word.  So  I  go." 

The  long,  swift  steps  sounded  down  the  hall ; 
there  was  the  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door, 
and  afterward  silence. 

[141] 


CHAPTER     IX 


IX 


THE  night  wore  on  and  the  moonlight 
faded.  The  stars  shone  large  and 
bright;  the  sound  of  people  passing 
on  the  street  grew  less  and  less.  Now  and  then 
a  party  of  belated  students  or  merry-makers 
came  by,  singing  a  round  or  madrigal.  A 
melancholy  night-jar  called  incessantly  over  the 
house-tops.  As  the  clocks  tolled  one,  there  was 
a  sound  of  rapid  wheels  along  the  road  and  a 
coach  stopped  before  goodman  Blossom's. 

Young  Thornbury  leaped  from  it,  and  with 
his  heavy  knocking  roused  the  man,  who  came 
stumbling  sleepily  down  the  hallway. 

"  Oh !  pray  thee,  make  haste,  Blossom,"  called 
the  young  fellow ;  "  keep  me  not  waiting." 
Then,  as  the  door  flew  open,  "  My  sister ! "  he 
said,  pushing  by,  "  is  she  still  up  ?  " 

"  Gra'mercy !  Thou  dost  worrit  sober  folk 
till  they  be  like  to  lose  their  wits!  Thy  sister 
should  be  long  abed — an'  thou  too.  Thou  art 
become  a  pranked-out  coxcomb  with  all  thy 
foppery  —  a  coxcomb  an*  a  devil-may-care 
roysterer  with  thy  blackened  eyes — thy  dice- 
[145] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

playing  an'  thy  coming  in  o'  midnight  i' 
coaches !  " 

Darby  strode  past,  unheeding;  at  the  stairs 
Debora  met  him. 

"  Thou  art  dressed,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  Well,  fetch  thy  furred  cloak ;  the  night  turns 
cold.  Lose  no  moment — but  hasten !  " 

"  Where?  "  she  cried.  "  Oh !  what  now  hath 
gone  amiss  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  thee  i'  the  road ;  tarry  not  to 
question  me." 

It  was  scarcely  a  moment  before  the  coach 
rolled  away  again.  Nothing  was  said  till  they 
came  to  London  Bridge.  The  flickering  links 
flashed  by  them  as  they  passed.  A  sea-scented 
wind  blew  freshly  over  the  river  and  the  tide 
was  rising  fast. 

"  I  have  no  heart  for  more  trouble,"  said  the 
girl,  tremulously.  "  Oh !  tell  me,  Darby,  an' 
keep  me  not  waiting.  Where  go'th  the  coach? 
What  hath  happened?  Whatever  hath  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  Just  this,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  Nicholas 
Berwick  hath  been  stabbed  by  one  he  differed 
with  at  *  The  Mermaid.'  He  is  at  the  point 
[146] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

o'  death,  an'  would  not  die  easy  till  he  saw 
thee." 

"  Nick  Berwick  ?  Say'th  thou  so — at  the 
point  o'  death?  Nay,  dear  heart,  it  cannot  be. 
I  will  not  believe  it — he  will  not  die, — he  is  too 
great  and  strong — 'tis  not  so  grievous  as  that," 
cried  Deb. 

"  'Tis  worse,  we  think.  He  will  be  gone  by 
daybreak.  He  may  be  gone  now.  See!  the 
horses  have  turned  into  Cheapside.  We  will 
soon  be  there." 

"  What  was  the  cause  ? "  the  girl  asked, 
faintly.  "  Tell  me  how  he  came  by  the  blow." 

There  was  no  sound  for  a  while  but  the  whirl- 
ing of  wheels  and  the  ringing  of  the  horses' 
feet  over  cobble-stones. 

"  I  will  tell  thee,  though  'tis  not  easy  for 
either  thou  nor  I. 

"  'Twas  the  players'  night  at  '  The  Mer- 
maid,' and  there  was  a  lot  of  us  gathered. 
Marry!  Ben  Jonson  and  Master  Shakespeare, 
Beaumont  and  Keene.  I  need  not  give  thee 
names,  for  there  were  men  from  '  The  Rose ' 
playhouse  and  *  The  Swan.'  '  Twas  a  gay  com- 
pany and  a  rare.  Ay !  Sherwood  was  there  for 
[147] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

half  an  hour,  though  he  was  overgrave  and 
distraught,  it  seemed  to  me.  They  would 
have  him  sing  '  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine 
eyes.'  'Fore  Heaven,  I  will  remember  it  till  I 
die." 

"  Nick  Berwick,"  she  said.  "  Oh !  what  of 
him?" 

"  Ay !  he  was  there ;  he  came  in  with  Master 
Will  Shakespeare,  and  he  sat  aside — not  speak- 
ing to  any,  watching  and  listening.  He  was 
there  when  the  party  had  thinned  out,  still 
silent.  I  mind  his  face,  'twas  white  as  death  at 
a  feast.  Not  half  an  hour  ago — an'  there  were 
but  ten  of  us  left — a  man — one  from  '  The 
Rose,'  they  told  me — I  knew  him  not  by  sight 
— leaped  to  a  chair  and,  with  a  goblet  filled  and 
held  high,  called  out  to  the  rest — 

" '  Come,'  he  cried  above  the  noise  of  our 
voices.  '  Come,  another  toast !  Come,  merry 
gentlemen,  each  a  foot  on  the  table !  I  drink  to 
a  new  beauty.  For  as  I  live  'twas  no  man,  but 
a  maid,  who  was  on  the  boards  at  Blackfriars 
i'  the  new  play,  and  the  name  o'  her '  " 

The  girl  caught  her  breath  —  "  Darby !  — 
Darby!" 

[148] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  Nay,  he  said  no  more,  sweet ;  for  Nick 
Berwick  caught  him  and  swung  him  to  the 
floor." 

"'Thou  dost  lie!'  he  cried.  'Take  back 
thy  words  before  I  make  thee.'  While  he  spoke 
he  shook  the  fellow  violently,  then  on  a  sudden 
loosened  his  hold.  As  he  did  so,  the  player 
drew  a  poniard  from  its  sheath  at  his  hip, 
sprang  forward,  and  struck  Berwick  full  i'  the 
throat.  That  is  all,"  Thornbury  said,  his  voice 
dropping,  "  save  that  he  asked  incessantly  for 
thee,  Deb,  ere  he  fainted." 

The  coach  stopped  before  a  house  where  the 
lights  burned  brightly.  Opening  the  door  they 
entered  a  low,  long  room  with  rafters  and  wains- 
coting of  dark  wood.  In  the  centre  of  it  was 
a  huge  table,  in  disorder  of  flagons  and  dishes. 
The  place  was  blue  with  smoke,  and  overheated, 
for  a  fire  yet  burned  in  the  great  fireplace.  On 
a  settle  lay  a  man,  his  throat  heavily  bound 
with  linen,  and  by  him  was  a  physician  of  much 
fame  in  London,  and  one  who  had  notable  skill 
in  surgery. 

Debora  went  swiftly  toward  them  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

[149] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"Oh!  Nick!  Nick!"  she  said,  with  a  little 
half-stifled  cry.  "  Oh!  Nick,  is't  thou?  " 

"  Why,  'twas  like  thee  to  come,"  he  answered, 
eagerly,  raising  up  on  his  elbow.  "  'Twill  make 
it  easier  for  me,  Deb — an'  I  go.  Come  nearer, 
come  close." 

The  physician  lowered  him  gently  back  and 
spoke  with  soft  sternness. 

"  Have  a  care,  good  gentleman,"  he  said. 
"  We  have  stopped  the  bleeding,  and  would  not 
have  it  break  out  afresh.  Thy  life  depends 
upon  thy  stillness."  So  saying,  he  withdrew  a 
little. 

"  Oh !  move  not,  Nick,"  said  the  girl,  slip- 
ping to  the  floor  beside  him  and  leaning 
against  the  oaken  seat ;  "  neither  move  nor 
speak.  I  will  keep  watch  beside  thee.  But 
why  did'st  deny  it  or  say  aught?  'Twould 
have  been  better  that  the  whole  o'  London  knew 
than  this!  Nay,  answer  me  not,"  she  contin- 
ued, fearfully ;  "  thou  may  not  speak  or  lift  a 
finger." 

Berwick  smiled  faintly,  "  Ah !  sweet,"  he 
said,  pausing  between  the  words,  "  I  would  not 
have  thy  name  on  every  tongue — but  would 
[150] 


"  It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  thee  here,  Nick  " 


a    c.i re,    good 


t3i3ri  dariJ  333  01 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

silence  them  all — an'  I  had  lives  enough.  Yet 
thou  wert  in  truth  upon  the  stage  at  Black- 
friars — in  Will  Shakespeare's  play — though  I 
denied  it!" 

"Yes,"  said  Deb,  softly,  "but  'twas  of 
necessity.  We  will  think  no  more  of  it.  It 
breaks  my  heart  to  see  thee  here,  Nick,"  she 
ended,  with  quivering  lips,  her  eyes  wide  and 
pitiful. 

"  Now  that  need  not  trouble  thee,"  answered 
the  man,  a  light  breaking  over  his  gray,  drawn 
face.  "  'Fore  Heaven,  I  mind  it  not." 

"  Thou  wilt  be  better  soon,"  said  the  girl. 
"  I  will  have  it  so,  Nick.  I  will  not  have  thee 
die  for  this." 

"  Dost  remember  what  I  asked  thee  last 
Christmas,  Deb?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  not  meeting  his  eyes. 

"  Wilt  kiss  me  now,  Deb?  " 

For  answer  she  stooped  down  and  laid  her 
lips  to  his,  then  rose  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  Ah !  Deb,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her  ador- 
ingly.     "  'Twill  be   something  to  remember — 
should  I  live — an'  if  not,  well — 'tis  not  every 
man  who  dies  with  a  kiss  on  his  lips." 
[151] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"  Thou  must  not  talk,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  faintly,  "  nor  keep  thee. 
Yet  promise  me  one  thing." 

"  What  would' st  have  me  promise  ?  " 

"  That  thou  wilt  return  on  the  morrow  to 
Shottery.  London  is  no  place  for  thee  now." 

"  I  will  go,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  though  I 
would  fain  take  care  of  thee  here,  Nick." 

"  That  thou  must  not  think  of,"  he  replied. 
"  I  will  fare — as  God  wills.  Go  thou  home  to 
Shottery." 

The  physician  crossed  over  to  them  and  laid 
his  white  fingers  on  Berwick's  wrist. 

"  Thou  dost  seem  set  upon  undoing  my 
work,"  he  said.  "  Art  so  over-ready  to  die, 
Master  Berwick?  One  more  swoon  like  the  last 
and  thou  would'st  sleep  on." 

"  He  will  talk  no  more,  good  Doctor,"  said 
Debora,  hastily.  "  Ah !  thou  wilt  be  kind  to 
him,  I  pray  thee?  And  now  I  will  away,  as 
'tis  best,  but  my  brother  will  stay,  and  carry 
out  thy  orders.  Nay,  Nick,  thou  must  not 
even  say  good-bye  or  move  thy  lips.  I  will 
go  back  to  Dame  Blossom  quite  safely  in  the 
coach." 

[152] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

"  An'  to  Shottery  on  the  morrow  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Ay ! "  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  tear- 
blinded  eyes,  "  as  thou  wilt  have  it  so." 


[153] 


CHAPTER    X 


IT  was  early  morning  of  the  next  day  and 
Debora  Thornbury  was  in  the  upper  room 
at  Mistress  Blossom's  house.  She  folded 
one  garment  after  another  and  laid  them  away 
in  the  little  trunk  that  had  come  with  her  from 
home. 

Darby  entered  the  room  before  she  had  fin- 
ished, and  threw  himself  wearily  into  a  chair. 

"  Thou  hast  brought  news,"  she  said,  eager- 
ly ;  "  he  is  better — or " 

"  Nay,  there  is  no  great  change.  The  Leech 
is  still  with  him  and  makes  no  sign ;  yet  I  fancy 
he  hath  a  shade  of  hope,  for  no  further  hemor- 
rhage hath  occurred.  Nick  sent  me  back  to 
thee;  he  would  not  be  denied." 

"  Ah ! "  she  cried,  "  I  am  afraid  to  take 
heart.  I  dare  not  hope."  Then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "  Tell  me,  Darby ;  I  must  know. 
Who  was  it  that  struck  him  ?  " 

"  'Twas  a  player  I  know  by  reputation,"  re- 
plied Darby,  "  yet,  as  I  told  thee,  never  met 
till  •  yesternight.  He  is  one  Dorien  North,  and 
hath  the  very  name  that  Sherwood  discarded — 
[157] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

with  ample  reason,  if  what  report  says  of  this 
man  be  true.  It  seems  they  be  first  cousins, 
but  while  Sherwood  is  a  most  rarely  good  fel- 
low, this  other,  albeit  with  the  same  grace  o' 
manner  and  a  handsome  enough  face,  is  by  odds 
the  most  notorious  scamp  out  of  Newgate  to- 
day. He  hath  a  polish  an'  wit  that  stands  him 
in  place  o'  morals.  Of  late  he  hath  been  with 
the  Lord  High  Admiral's  men  at  '  The  Rose ' ; 
but  they  were  ever  a  scratch  company,  and  a 
motley  lot." 

The  girl  moved  unsteadily  across  to  her 
brother.  She  grasped  the  velvet  sleeve  of  his 
tabard  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  eyes  great 
and  darkening. 

"  One  thing  follows  on  another  o'er  fast.  I 
am  bewildered.  Is't  true  what  thou  hast  just 
said,  Darby?  " 

"  Egad,  yes !  "  he  replied,  wonderingly.  "  I 
would  have  told  thee  of  North  the  day  thou 
swooned,  but  't  went  out  o'  my  mind.  Dost  not 
remember  asking  me  why  Sherwood  had  changed 
his  name  on  the  bills  o'  the  play?  Yet,  what 
odds  can  it  make  ?  " 

"  Only  this,"  she  cried,  "  that  this  Dorien 
[158] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

North,  who  has  so  painted  the  name  black,  and 
who  but  last  night  struck  Nicholas  Berwick,  is 
in  very  truth  little  Dorien's  father.  So  goes 
the  man's  name  the  Puritan  maid  told  me. 
Moreover,  he  was  a  player  also.  Oh!  Darby, 
dost  not  see?  I  thought  'twas  the  other — Don 
Sherwood." 

"  'Twas  like  a  woman  to  hit  so  wide  o'  the 
mark,"  answered  Darby.  "  Did'st  not  think 
there  might  chance  be  two  of  the  name?  In 
any  case  what  is't  to  thee,  Deb  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  laying  her  face  against  his 
arm,  "  I  cannot  tell  thee ;  ask  no  more,  but  go 
thou  and  find  him  and  tell  him  the  story  of 
Nell  Quinten,  and  how  I  thought  that  Dorien 
North  she  told  me  of  was  he;  and  afterwards 
if  he  wilt  come  with  thee,  bring  him  here  to 
me.  Perchance  he  may  be  at  Blackfriars,  or — 
or  *  The  Tabard  Inn,'  or  even  abroad  upon  the 
streets.  In  any  case,  find  him  quickly,  dear 
heart,  for  the  time  is  short  and  I  must  away 
to  Shottery,  as  I  promised  Nick, — poor  Nick, 
— poor  Nick."  So  she  fell  to  sobbing  and 
crying. 

The  young  fellow  gazed  at  her  in  that  dis- 
[159] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

tress  which  overtakes  a  man  when  a  woman 
weeps. 

"  Marry,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  thou  would'st 
give  over  thy  tears.  I  weary  of  them  and  they 
will  mend  naught.  There,  cheer  up,  sweet.  I 
will  surely  find  Sherwood,  and  at  once,  as  'tis 
thy  wish." 

It  was  high  noon  when  Darby  Thornbury  re- 
turned. With  him  came  the  player  Sherwood 
and  another.  The  three  entered  Master  Blos- 
som's house,  and  Darby  sought  his  sister. 

"  Don  Sherwood  waits  below,"  he  said,  sim- 
ply. "  I  met  him  on  London  Bridge.  He  hath 
brought  his  cousin  Dorien  North  with  him." 

"  I  thank  thee,"  the  girl  answered.  "  I  will 
go  to  them." 

Presently  she  entered  Dame  Blossom's  little 
parlour  where  the  two  men  awaited  her. 

She  stood  a  moment,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.  Neither  spoke  nor  stirred. 

Then  Debora  turned  to  Don  Sherwood;  her 
lips  trembled  a  little. 

"  I  wronged  thee,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I 
wronged  thee  greatly.  I  ask  thy  pardon." 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  going  to  her.  "  Ask  it  not, 
[160] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

'twas  but  a  mistake.  I  blame  thee  not  for  it. 
This,"  motioning  to  the  other,  "  this  is  my  kins- 
man, Dorien  North.  He  is  my  father's  brother's 
son,  and  we  bear  the  same  name,  or  rather  did 
so  in  the  past." 

The  girl  looked  at  the  man  before  her  coldly, 
yet  half-curiously. 

"  I  would,"  went  on  Sherwood,  steadily, 
"  that  he  might  hear  the  tale  Darby  told  me. 
To-morrow  he  sails  for  the  Indies,  as  I  have 
taken  passage  for  him  on  an  outward-bound 
ship.  He  came  to  me  for  money  to  escape  last 
night,  after  having  stabbed  one  Master  Ber- 
wick in  a  brawl  at  '  The  Mermaid.'  It  may 
be  thou  hast  already  heard  of  this  ?  " 

"  Ay !  "  she  answered,  whitening,  "  I  have 
heard." 

"  I  gave  him  the  passage  money,"  continued 
Sherwood,  "  for  I  would  not  either  have  him 
swing  on  Tyburn  or  rot  in  Newgate.  Yet  I 
will  even  now  tell  the  Captain  under  whom  he 
was  to  sail  that  he  is  an  escaping  felon — a  pos- 
sible murderer — if  he  lies  to  thee  in  aught — 
and  I  shall  know  if  he  lies." 

The  man  they  both  watched  threw  back  his 
[161] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

handsome,  blond  head  at  this  and  laughed  a 
short,  hard  laugh.  His  dazzling  white  teeth 
glittered,  and  in  the  depths  of  his  blue  eyes 
was  a  smouldering  fire. 

"  By  St.  George !  "  he  broke  out,  "  you  have 
me  this  time,  Don.  Hang  me !  If  I'm  not  be- 
twixt the  devil  and  the  deep  sea."  Then,  with 
a  low  bow  to  Debora,  raising  his  hand  against 
his  heart  in  courtly  fashion,  "  I  am  thy  servant, 
fair  lady,"  he  said.  "  Ask  me  what  thou  dost 
desire.  I  will  answer." 

"  I  would  have  asked  thee — Art  thou  that 
Dorien  North  who  deceived  and  betrayed  one 
Nell  Quinten,  daughter  of  Makepeace  Quinten, 
the  Puritan,  who  lives  near  Kenilworth,"  said 
Debora,  gravely ;  "  but  indeed  I  need  not  to 
ask  thee.  The  child  who  was  in  her  arms  when 
we  found  her — hath  thy  face." 

"  Doth  not  like  it?  "  he  questioned,  with  bold 
effrontery,  raising  his  smiling,  dare-devil  eyes 
to  hers. 

"Ay!"  she  said,  gently,  "I  love  little  Do- 

rien's  face,  and  'tis  truly  thine  in  miniature — 

thine  when  it  was  small  and  fair  and  innocent. 

Oh!  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  Master  Dorien  North, 

[162] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

more  sorry  than  I  was  for  thy  child's  mother, 
for  she  had  done  no  evil,  save  it  be  evil  to  love." 

A  change  went  over  the  man's  face,  and  for 
a  moment  it  softened. 

"  Waste  not  thy  pity,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  not 
worth  it.  I  confess  to  all  my  sins.  I  wronged 
Nell  Quinten,  and  the  child  is  mine.  Yet  I 
would  be  altogether  graceless  did  I  not  thank 
thee  for  giving  him  shelter,  Mistress  Thorn- 
bury." 

Sherwood,  who  had  been  listening  in  silence, 
suddenly  spoke. 

"  That  is  all  I  needed  of  thee,  Dorien,"  he 
said.  "  You  may  go.  I  do  not  think  from  here 
to  the  docks  there  will  be  danger  of  arrest;  the 
heavy  cloak  and  drooping  hat  so  far  disguise 
thee;  while  once  on  ship-board  thou  art  safe." 

"  I  am  in  danger  enough,"  said  the  other, 
with  a  shrug,  "  but  it  troubles  me  little.  I  bid 
thee  farewell,  Mistress  Thornbury."  And  so 
saying  he  turned  to  go. 

"  Wait,"  she  cried,  impulsively,  touching  his 

arm.     "  I  would  not  have  thee  depart  so ;  thou 

art  going  into  a  far  country,  Master  North, 

and  surely  need  some  fair  wishes  to  take  with 

[163] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

thee.  Oh!  I  know  thou  hast  been  i'  the  wrong, 
many,  many  times  over.  Perchance,  hitherto 
thou  hast  feared  neither  God  nor  the  law.  But 
last  night — Nicholas  Berwick  was  sorely  wound- 
ed by  thee,  and  this  because  he  defended  my 
name." 

"  Yet  'twas  thou  who  played  at  Black- 
friars?"  he  questioned,  hesitatingly.  "I  saw 
thee;  it  could  have  been  no  other." 

"  'Twas  I,"  she  answered.  "  I  played  in  my 
brother's  place — of  necessity — but  speak  no 
more  of  that,  'tis  over,  and  as  that  is  past  for 
me,  so  would  I  have  thee  leave  all  thy  unhappy 
past.  Take  not  thy  sins  with  thee  into  the  new 
country.  Ah!  no.  Neither  go  with  bitterness 
in  thy  heart  towards  any,  but  live  through  the 
days  that  come  as  any  gentleman  should  who 
bears  thy  name.  Thy  path  and  mine  have 
crossed,"  she  ended,  the  pink  deepening  in  her 
face,  "  an'  so  I  would  bid  thee  godspeed  for 
the  sake  of  thy  little  son." 

The  man  stood  irresolute  a  moment,  then 
stooped,  lifted  Debora's  hand  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  it. 

"  Thou  hast  preached  me  a  homily,"  he  said, 
[164] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

in  low  voice ;  "  yet,  'fore  Heaven,  from  such  a 
priest  I  mind  it  not."  And,  opening  the  door, 
he  went  swiftly  away. 

Then  Don  Sherwood  drew  Debora  to  him. 
"  Nothing  shall  ever  take  thee  from  me,"  he 
said,  passionately.  "  I  would  not  live,  sweet- 
heart, to  suffer  what  I  suffered  yesternight." 

"  Nor  I,"  she  answered. 

"  When  may  I  to  Shottery  to  wed  thee?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Oh !  I  will  not  leave  my  father  for  many  a 
day,"  she  said,  smiling  tremulously.  "  Yet  I 
would  have  thee  come  to  Shottery  by-and-bye 
— peradventure,  when  the  summer  comes,  and 
the  great  rosebush  beneath  the  south  window  is 
ablow." 

"  Beshrew  me !  'tis  ages  away,  the  summer," 
he  returned,  with  impatience. 

"  The  days  till  then  will  be  as  long  for  me 
as  for  thee,"  she  said,  tenderly;  and  with  this 
assurance,  and  because  he  would  fain  be  pleas- 
ing her  in  all  things,  he  tried  to  make  himself 
content. 


[165] 


CHAPTER    XI 


XI 


IT  is  Christmas  eve  once  more,  and  all  the 
diamond  window  panes  of  One  Tree  Inn 
are  aglitter  with  light  from  the  Yule  log 
fire  in  the  front  room  chimney-place   and   the 
many  candles  Mistress  Debora  placed  in  their 
brass  candlesticks. 

Little  Dorien  had  followed  her  joyously  from 
room  to  room,  and  many  times  she  had  lifted 
him  in  her  strong,  young  arms  and  let  him 
touch  the  wick  with  the  lighted  spill  and  start 
the  fairy  flame.  Then  his  merry  laugh  rang 
through  the  house,  and  John  Sevenoakes  and 
Master  Thornbury,  sitting  by  the  hearth  be- 
low, smiled  as  the}'  listened,  for  it  is  so  good 
a  thing  to  hear,  the  merry,  whole-hearted,  inno- 
cent laughter  of  a  child. 

Even  the  leathery,  grim  old  face  of  Ned 
Saddler  relaxed  into  a  pleasant  expression  at 
the  sound  of  it,  though  t'was  against  his  will 
to  allow  himself  to  show  anything  of  happiness 
he  felt;  for  he  was  much  like  a  small,  tart  win- 
ter apple,  wholesome  and  sound  at  heart,  yet 
sour  enough  to  set  one's  teeth  on  edge. 
[169] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

And  they  talked  together,  these  three  ancient 
cronies,  while  now  and  then  Master  Thornbury 
leaned  over  and  stirred  the  contents  of  the  big 
copper  pot  on  the  crane,  sorely  scorching  his 
kindly  face  in  the  operation. 

Presently  Nick  Berwick  came  in,  stamping 
the  snow  off  his  long  boots,  and  he  crossed  to 
the  hearth  and  turned  his  broad  back  to  the 
fire,  even  as  he  had  done  a  year  before  on 
Christmas  eve.  His  face  was  graver  than  it  had 
been,  for  his  soul  had  had  a  wide  outlook  since 
then,  but  his  mouth  smiled  in  the  old-time  sweet 
and  friendly  fashion,  and  if  he  had  any  ache 
of  the  heart  he  made  no  sign. 

"  Hast  come  over  from  Stratford,  lad  ? " 
asked  Thornbury. 

"Ay!"  he  answered,  "an'  I  just  met  little 
Judith  Shakespeare  hastening  away  from  grand 
dame  Hathaway's.  She  tells  me  her  father  is 
coming  home  for  Christmas.  Never  saw  I  one 
in  a  greater  flutter  of  excitement.  '  Oh !  Nick,' 
she  cried  out,  ere  I  made  sure  who  it  was  in  the 
dusk,  '  Hast  heard  the  news  ?  '  *  What  news, 
gossip  ? '  I  answered.  '  Why,  that  my  father 
will  be  home  to-night,'  she  called  back.  *  'Tis 
[170] 


A     MAID     OF     MANY     MOODS 

more  than  I  dreamed  or  dared  to  hope,  but  'tis 
true.'  I  could  see  the  shining  of  her  eyes  as 
she  spoke,  and  she  tripped  onward  as  though 
the  road  were  covered  with  rose-leaves  instead 
of  snow." 

"  She  is  a  giddy  wench,"  said  Saddler,  "  and 
doth  lead  Deb  into  half  her  pranks.  If  I  had 
a  daughter  now " 

Thornbury  broke  into  a  great  laugh  and 
clapped  the  old  fellow  soundly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Hark  to  him!"  he  cried.  "If  he  had  a 
daughter!  Marry  and  amen,  I  would  we  could 
see  what  kind  of  maid  she  would  be." 

"  I  gainsay,"  put  in  Sevenoakes,  thinking  to 
shift  the  subject,  "  that  Will  Shakespeare  comes 
home  as  much  for  Deb's  wedding  as  aught  else." 

A  shade  went  over  Berwick's  face.  "  The 
church  hath  been  pranked  out  most  gaily,  Mas- 
ter Thornbury,"  he  said. 

"  'Twill  be  gay  enough,"  said  Saddler,  "  but 
there'll  be  little  comfort  in  it  and  small  rest  for 
a  man's  hand  or  elbow  anywhere  for  the  holly 
they've  strung  up.  I  have  two  lame  thumbs 
with  the  prickles  that  have  run  into  them." 

Thornbury  smiled.  "  Then  'twas  thou  who 
[171] 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

helped  the  lads  and  lasses  this  afternoon,  Ned," 
he  said ;  "  and  I  doubt  nothing  'twas  no  one 
else  who  hung  the  great  bunch  of  mistletoe  in 
the  chancel !  I  marvel  at  thee." 

At  this  they  all  laughed  so  loudly  that  they 
did  not  hear  Deb  and  little  Dorien  enter  the 
room  and  come  over  to  the  hearth,  with  Tramp 
following. 

"  What  art  making  so  merry  over,  Dad  ?  " 
she  questioned,  looking  from  one  to  another. 

"  Nay,  ask  me  not.     Ask  Saddler." 

"  He  doth  not  like  maids  who  are  curious," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  am  content  to 
be  in  the  dark." 

Then  she  cried,  listening,  "  There,  dost  not 
hear  the  coach?  I  surely  caught  the  rumble 
of  the  wheels,  and  she  is  on  time  for  once! 
Come,  Dorien.  Come,  Dad,  we  will  to  the  door 
to  meet  them." 

Soon  the  lumbering  coach  swung  up  the  road 
and  the  tired  horses  stopped  under  the  oak. 

And  it  was  a  welcome  worth  having  the  two 

travellers  got,  for  Darby  Thornbury  and  Don 

Sherwood  had  journeyed  from  London  together, 

ay!  and  Master  Shakespeare  had  borne  them 

[172] 


Darby  went  lightly  from  one  London  topic 
to  another 


o  o 


;  laughed  so  lou*  the 

•  b  and   little  Dor 
rQ0m  and  come  over  to  the  heart! 

,>wing. 

"What  art  making  so  merry  over,  Dad?" 
she  questioned,  looking  from  one  to  anotl 
"  Nay,  ask  me  not.     Ask  Saddler." 

<  ho  are  curious/ 
•  1  uni  content  t 

cning,  "'There,  dost  no 
vh?      I  surely  caught    the  rumbl 

''or  once 

Con;  ,  Dad,  we  will  to  the  doo 

to 

Soon  the  lumbering  coach  swung  up -the  rea 
and  the  tired  horses  stopped  under  the  oak. 
,1  it  was  a  welcome  worth  having  th< 

got,  for  Darby  Thornbury  and  Do 
wood  had  journeyed  from  London  to^ 
my!  and  Master  Shakespeare  had  borne  the 

[TO] 

oiqo*  nobnoJL  sno  moil  ylfrigil  Jnaw 

oi 


A    MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

company,  though  he  left  them  half  a  mile  off. 
As  the  group  drew  their  chairs  about  the  fire- 
place, Darby  had  many  a  jest  and  happy  story 
to  repeat  that  the  master  told  them  on  the 
homeward  way,  for  he  was  ever  the  best  com- 
pany to  make  a  long  road  seem  short. 

Deb  sat  in  her  old  seat  in  the  inglenook  and 
Master  Sherwood  stood  beside  her,  where  he 
could  best  see  the  ruddy  light  play  over  her 
wondrous  hair  and  in  the  tender  depths  of  her 
eyes.  They  seemed  to  listen,  these  two,  as 
Darby  went  lightly  from  one  London  topic  to 
another,  for  now  and  then  Don  Sherwood  put 
in  a  word  or  so  in  that  mellow  voice  of  his,  and 
Deb  smiled  often — yet  it  may  be  they  did  not 
follow  him  over  closely,  for  they  were  dreaming 
a  dream  of  their  own  and  the  day  after  the 
morrow  was  their  wedding  day. 

The  child  Dorien  lay  upon  the  sheepskin  rug 
at  Deb's  feet  and  watched  Darby.  His  eager, 
beautiful  little  face  lit  up  with  joy,  for  were 
they  not  all  there  together,  those  out  of  the 
whole  world  he  loved  the  best,  and  it  would  be 
Christmas  in  the  morning.  What  more  could 
any  child  desire? 

[173] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

"When  I  look  at  the  little  lad,  Don,"  said 
Debora,  softly,  "  my  thoughts  go  back  to  his 
mother.  'Twas  on  such  a  night  as  this,  as  I 
have  told  thee,  that  Darby  found  her  in  the 
snow." 

"  Think  not  of  it,  sweetheart,"  he  answered ; 
"  the  child,  at  least,  has  missed  naught  that 
thou  could'st  give." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  said,  in  a  passionate, 
low  tone,  "  but  it  troubles  me  when  I  think  of 
all  that  I  have  of  care  and  life's  blessings,  and 
of  her  woe  and  desolation,  and  through  no  sin, 
save  that  of  loving  too  well.  I  see  not  why  it 
should  be." 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  bending  towards  her,  "  there 
are  some  '  Why's '  that  must  wait  for  their  an- 
swer— for  'twill  not  come  this  side  o'  heaven." 
Then,  in  lighter  tone,  "  When  I  look  at  the 
little  lad  I  see  but  that  scapegrace  kinsman  of 
mine ;  but  although  he  is  so  marvellous  like  him, 
thou  wilt  be  his  guide.  I  fear  nothing  for  his 
future,  for  who  could  be  aught  but  good  with 
thee,  my  heart's  love,  beside  them." 

And  presently  there  was  a  stir  as  Nicholas 
Berwick  rose  and  bid  all  good-night,  and  this 
[174] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY     MOODS 

reminded  John  Sevenoakes  and  Ned  Saddler  that 
the  hour  was  late.  It  was  then  that  Berwick 
went  to  Deb,  at  a  moment  when  she  stood  apart 
from  the  others.  He  held  towards  her  a  small 
leather-covered  box. 

"'Tis  my  wedding  gift  to  thee,  Deb,"  he 
said,  his  grave  eyes  upon  her  changeful  face. 
"  'Tis  a  pearl  collar  my  mother  wore  on  her 
wedding-day  when  she  was  young  and  fair  as 
thou  art.  I  will  not  be  here  to  see  how  sweet 
thou  dost  look  in  it." 

"Thou  wilt  in  the  church,  Nick?" 

"  Nay,  I  will  not.  I  have  not  told  thee  be- 
fore, as  I  would  not  plant  a  thorn  in  any  of 
thy  roses,  but  I  ride  to  London  on  the  morrow. 
I  have  much  work  there,  for  later  on  I  sail  to 
America  to  the  new  Colonies,  in  charge  of  cer- 
tain stores  for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  tear-filled  and  tender,  to 
his. 

"  I  wish  thee  peace,  Nick,"  she  said,  "  wher- 
ever thou  art — and  I  have  no  fear  but  that 
gladness  will  follow.  I  will  miss  thee,  for  thou 
wert  ever  my  friend." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  went  away, 
[175] 


A    MAID    OF    MANY    MOODS 

and  in  the  quiet  that  followed,  when  Master 
Thornbury  and  Darby  talked  together,  Don 
Sherwood  drew  Debora  into  the  shadow  by  the 
window-seat. 

"  I'  faith,"  he  said,  "  if  I  judge  not  wrongly 
by  Master  Nicholas  Berwick's  face  when  he 
spoke  with  thee  but  now,  he  doth  love  thee  also, 
Deb." 

"  Ah ! "  she  answered,  "  he  hath  indeed  said 
so  in  the  past  and  moreover  proven  it." 

"  In  very  truth,  yes.  But  thou,"  with  a  flash 
in  his  eyes,  "  dost  care  ?  Hast  aught  of  love 
for  him?  Nay,  I  need  not  ask  thee." 

She  smiled  a  little,  half  sadly. 

"  I  love  but  thee,"  she  said. 

He  gave  a  short,  light  laugh,  then  looked 
grave. 

"  'Tis  another  of  life's  '  Why's,'  sweetheart, 
that  awaiteth  an  answer.  Why !  —  why,  in 
heaven's  name,  should  I  have  the  good  fortune 
to  win  thee,  when  he,  who  I  think  is  far  the 
better  gentleman,  hath  failed?  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  bells  of  Stratford  rang  out 
their  joyous  pealing,  and  the  sound  came  to 
them  on  the  night  wind.  Then  the  child,  who 
[176] 


A     MAID     OF    MANY    MOODS 

had  been  asleep  curled  up  on  the  soft  rug, 
opened  his  wondering  eyes. 

Deb  stooped  and  lifted  him,  and  he  laid  his 
curly  head  against  her  shoulder. 

"  Is  it  Christmas,  Deb  ?  "  he  asked,  sleepily. 

"  Yes,  my  lamb,"  she  answered ;  "  for,  hark ! 
the  bells  are  ringing  it  in,  and  they  say,  '  Peace, 
Dorien — Peace  and  goodwill  to  men.'  " 


THE    END 


[  177  ] 


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